


Two Steps From Hell

by phantomchajo



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-30 20:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13959276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomchajo/pseuds/phantomchajo
Summary: Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers.. then he remembers. Besides, even if you don't get along with your siblings, no one messes with family and gets away with it. (lackluster summary, I know.)





	1. Where we are now...

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't abandoned my other works, just no muse activity from those areas. This is mostly the result of playing Darksiders 1 & 2 repeatedly in order to entertain my dad. Easily 100+ hours / 2 different saves, all the DLC.. for DS2 alone. Yep, bound to get some type of muse showing up.. Don't expect anything regular on posting of chapters, even though I'm working on chap 4. I have an idea of where it's going, but nothing pinned down as of yet so things can, and do, change as I go along. Story title taken from the name of a fantastic musical group, highly recommended. Some of the chap titles are also song names from my large collection of music. Thanks for reading.

The Horseman sat casually in the saddle, surveying the land from atop his steed. The plateau around him was dotted with high mesas and buttes interspaced with deep winding canyons, small secluded valleys and flat plains. Nothing seems to have altered the landscape since he was here last, almost as if the land was frozen in time. The problem was, everything as far as the eye could see, was coated in a light dusting of snow, giving the land a grey-white hue as ominous dark clouds that roiled and churned, rotated slowly around a fixed point somewhere on the far northern horizon.

Swinging a leg over the saddle he dropped down to the ground and walked a few paces to the edge of the cliff to look down. He crouched, then gathered a handful of earth and brought it up to eye level before letting it go, watching as it swirled away in the wind. It was supposed to be high summer; sun-scorched earth, dust tainted winds, merciless heat and everything that went with it. The land was suppose to be the same overall earthen color, with smattering of gray-greens of scrub bushes and dark greens of cacti. The reds, blacks and tans of the rock layers that made up the mesas and buttes creating an almost soothing backdrop to the blinding brightness of the mid-day sun. Instead, everything was washed out, faded to shades of dingy grays or dirty whites. A bitter, biting cold wind blew in from the northerly direction. A cold that seeped into a being's core and refused to let go, slowly sapping everything but the blackest of despair and hopelessness.

The steed snorted, pawing at the ground a few times before it shook it's head and snorted again. It's hot breath coming out as clouds of steam as it expressed its unease and displeasure of the entire situation.

"Yeah, I hear ya," the rider murmured as he stood back up, brushing the clinging dirt and snow off his hand as he did. With ease of eon's of experience, he swung himself back up into the saddle before he patted his steed's neck. "Miss a decade or so thanks to a pain in the ass mission that went sour all because of an overeager idiot of a brother and everything goes to hell in our absence," he grumbled softly under his breath. "Even some of the lowest, dumbest denizens of Hell could tell something's off kilter here. Bet even War could figure it out. Eventually."

The steed's sides heaved as it blew out a gusty breath in response to it's rider's comment.

"Oh fine, be that way. Yes, he's smarter than he looks. I'll give you that," the rider conceded. "But he still can't finesse his way out of trouble. Even if the Creator lead him by the hand. He's great to have when you want to get to the heart of the matter and don't mind destroying everything in your path to get there, but when you want or need to be sneaky or take a good long look at the entire picture from a distance… it goes right over his head." The steed turned it's head, giving its rider a side-eyed look before bobbing its head once in agreement. "Guess we should get moving. Whatever is going on won't solve itself for us…" With that, Strife reached up and adjusted his scarf, wrapping it a little tighter about his neck and shoulders as he let Grief choose their path of travel.


	2. Where we were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re confused about the timeline, don’t worry. No actual dates have been given. I’m going off the release date of DS1 as the “Day 0”/calendar restart for the End War. So we’re looking at about Year 0 to Year 150, give or take in this chapter.
> 
> Very minor edit as it was pointed out by the guest reviewer on FFnet, Angels in the Darksiders verse have been shown as having skin tones ranging from tanned -Abddon, Azrael, & Uriel- to swarthy Nathaniel- with Jamaerah being the only one seen that was more pasty pale than healthy 'pink' and I admit, I fell into the stereotypical thinking of "angels are Caucasian." - this note will be repeated in chapter 4 in case it was missed.

  “Where we were…”

 

The Kingdom of Mankind…. Very short lived when compared to the kingdoms of the Angels, Demons, Makers and all those others that were simply known as Old Ones. That's why they are, or were, considered the Creator’s most favored. A little bit of all the Creator’s previous creations could be seen in Mankind. Good, evil, creative, destructive and all shades in between. They can be ingenious little bastards when they want to be. And when faced with extinction thanks to a premature End War.. Well.. they got quite creative in their survival.

 

Most cities were abandoned to the roaming hordes of demons and equally deadly angels that hunted them. Humans learned real fast how to take down both, but at a high cost in those first few months. Some governments collapsed while others flourished under the assault. Not to mention some of the conspiracy theorists were proven right. Those crying ‘End of the World’ got to say ‘I told you so’ (or at least those still alive did). Vatican City in Rome? Yep, it turned out to be an Angelic encampment. And of course good old ‘Sin City’ (aka Los Vegas, NV, USA) was the Demon’s hang out on earth.

 

After a couple of years, when the outlook for mankind was starting to look quite grim, someone got the bright idea to try and create genetically modified humans who had better odds at combating (and surviving said combat against) both demons and angels. It took a couple more years but scientists were able to find, then finally isolate a gene that would allow their desired cross breeding of humans with both angels and demons to happen. What man didn’t know was that this had already happened a few thousand years in the past, with the occasional half-breed popping up here and there throughout history. (Jack the Ripper and Mother Teresa are but two examples.)

 

Secret deals were brokered with dark winged angels, known as the Fallen, to acquire the needed resources. Be it young angels stolen from far distant Heavenly outposts or demons from wherever they could be found. The Fallen supplied mankind with the genetic material to used to create their envisioned combat forces. Afterall, being exiled from the White City and all its outposts due to some real or imagined infractions of the rules meant they no longer had to follow them. So it was no feather off their wings should the end results of their deals bring about the death of angels, man or demons. They got to spit in the eye of their oh so superior brethren and thumb their noses at the Creator who abandoned them to their fate. Not to mention pleasures of the flesh were a nice little extra to sweeten the deals they made.

 

Eleven years after the start of the false apocalypse, the first phase of the Battleborn program came to fruition. The first human/angel and human/demon hybrids were born. They were officially designated as Homo Angelic and Homo Demonic. Both groups (and any descendants they would produce) were considered ‘sub-human’ by the governments of the world and treated no better than a slave race to mankind. These children could easily be told apart from ‘pure’ human children due to their physical appearances. Oddly hued skin, hair and eye colors, horns of various shapes, vestigial wings, cloven or beastial feet and sometimes tails were the most common occurrences. Temperament and what came to be known as ‘magical abilities’ were just as common but more easily hidden indicators of heritage. Unlike the ‘pure’ human children though, these were given up willingly or taken away forcefully from their mothers within moment’s of birth to be branded with identification markers then put into facilities to be raised. And when they reached a certain age, they were bred like pedigreed animals in man’s quest for continued survival against both demons and angels.

 

Fourteen years after that, the second phase children of the program was born. These children fell into one of three categories. The Angelics, Demonics and Other.

 

The first were the offspring of two ‘Angelics’. These children were usually fair haired, light eyed and pale swarthy skinned depending on which side they took after the most. Cherubic wings were a rare sight amongst them due to the wings being amputated soon after birth. More often for the convenience of the handlers rather than the benefit of the child. Magic often took a defensive or supportive form. Shields, enhancements of those around them and the most sought after ability, healing.

 

The second were the result of two ‘Demonics’. Most could be told apart simply due to the color of their skin, much less by any other method. Shades of reds were quite common while the occasional blues, greens, blacks and the rare purple were seen. Horns, taloned hands and beastial feet were quite common as well. Sometimes imp like wings and tails would appear. Magical abilities were much rarer, though more powerful due to their offensive capabilities. Though appearances and abilities were not mutually exclusive to one group or the other.

 

Like with their parents, these children were separated from their birth mothers and branded with identification markers before being placed into different facilities to prevent accidental offspring of parent-child or sibling pairings. Purposeful pairing were another story altogether though.

 

Then there was the third category...

 

The third category was the result of an Angelic and a Demonic pairing. These children almost always had what was considered a perfect blend of both sides. These children were faster, stronger, healthier, more resilient than their ‘cousins’, and excelled in combat training. Well those that survived into adulthood that is. They were called the Other, though the name ‘Nephilim’ was also used to describe them, but only by Demons and Angels that were ancient enough to remember that accursed race. Out of all the Other that survived infancy and grew to adulthood, there was only one from the first three groups of the breeding sub-program. After the third set of deaths, those running the breeding programs wised up and started spreading those births out instead of grouping them together. They also tightened security around the facilities where the hybrids were born. Soon enough, more joined the ‘Firstborn’ in surviving into adulthood and the life that went with being a Battleborn.

 

It would take decades after the Destroyer’s death before anyone started to question the need for the Battleborn program’s continuation. Even longer before anyone started to actively protest how these human hybrids were treated. The program wouldn’t be terminated until almost a century and a half after it had been initiated. And in the time between the death of the Destroyer and the end of the Battleborn program, Angels and Demons both were hunted down and given the choice of leaving under their own power or death.

 

Of course not everyone agreed with that ultimatum. Large encampments of Demons dug in even further while smaller pockets of Fallen kept on the move or claimed small settlements as their own. It was mostly left to mankind to deal with the problem, seeing how the enforcers of Balance, the legendary Four Horsemen, were dealing with a corrupt Charred Council and their slave race, the Watchers.

 

Finally after a century and a half, concessions were made on all sides. One outpost each for Angel and Demon, Vatican City and Sin Vegas respectively, with borders clearly marked and the Battleborn were officially given their freedom, no longer forced to serve as conscripted soldiers.

 


	3. Always second best...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they are brothers, doesn't mean they get along all the time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very tiny itsy-bitsy edit... added 1 letter to change something XD

03

“Always second best…”

  
  


Everytime Strife received a summons from the Charred Council, the rest of his day was shot to proverbial Hells. Especially when said summons came by Panoptos himself. He had no love for watchers in general but the first watcher prototype held a special place in his dislike. More than once, he’d been tempted to just say screw it, shoot the irksome creature and let the council do whatever they like with him in punishment. Most of the time when summoned as part of a group, he could at least sulk around in the background as he made it look like he was ignoring everyone and everything around him when in truth he was paying attention to everything said and done.

 

Arriving in the council’s domain was always a hassle as well, seeing how they never allowed just anyone entry. One had to traverse fiery plains criss-crossed with rivers of lava and bottomless ravines to reach the heart of the realm where the trio of stone heads sat, spewing molten rock and gases as they demanded answers and issued orders. Even on horseback, it took far longer to arrive than it did to depart. Once he was within range, Strife dismounted and dismissed Grief to the Far Plains until she was needed again. No need to leave the steed just standing around in this inhospitable place within easy reach of the Council should things go bad for him. While it hadn’t happened yet, there have been a few close shaves.

 

In the distance he could see a figure chained between twin pillars at the base of the stairs leading up to the platform in front of the Council. Though he couldn’t tell who it was, he was pretty certain that it was his younger brother War. When he got closer he kicked one of the rocks that littered the path. Yellow eyes gleamed as the fist sized rock struck War between the shoulders, causing the youngest Horseman to jerk about in the chains as he tried to spin around to face his attacker. As he drew even then passed his captive brother, Strife smirked behind the steel-grey helmet and stopped.

 

“Strife…” The name came out as a low growl as lips pulled back and teeth were bared.

 

“War..” Strife returned mockingly as he rested his hands on his hips, just above the empty holsters affixed to his gun belt.

 

Blue-white met yellow in a staredown that lasted a handful of heartbeats before being broken by the ominus rumble and a flare of flames and a surge of spewing lava from close by.

 

Strife scoffed then muttered unflatteringly about over-eager idiotic siblings before turning to mount the steps.

 

“ **Your late** ,” hissed one of the heads.

 

The Horseman gave an insincere partial bow. “Sorry the usual path was blocked, so I was forced to find another way here.”

 

“ **No excuses** ,” rumbled a second head.

 

“Apologies oh mighty-” A spike of pain at the base of his skull served as a warning that he was treading dangerously close to insolence.

 

“ **Enough!** ” the third head cut in. “ **You are to go to Earth and make sure certain souls are not allowed to be reborn and wreck anymore chaos upon creation. Once you have the souls..** ”

 

“ **..ALL the souls..** ” chorused the other two heads.

 

“ **..You will return here so that they can be punished accordingly.** ”

 

Strife shifted his weight to one leg as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why me? I don’t do the reaping, especially newly reborn souls. That’s Death’s job. Why not-” Excruciating pain ripped through him suddenly, but he refused to show it. Not even a sound escaped past his clenched teeth.

 

“ **Quiet!** ” the second head bellowed with a blast of fire.

 

The light died down as the magma that flowed under and around the platform calmed. “ **You will do as you are instructed. Or you will be punished even more for your insubordination Horseman. There are none here to protect you from our wrath.** ”

 

The first head finally spoke up after several minutes of tense silence. “ **Death is indisposed at this time.** ” One could hear the sour undertone of someone thwarted but unable to do anything about it. “ **Your sister is already on a mission dealing with the Deadly Sins that escaped their prison. And War is being punished. The Watchers or any others at our disposal would stand out too much.** ” There was a pause before it spoke up again. “ **You are all that is left for this mission.** ”

 

Behind the helmet, Strife scowled at the insult but said nothing as he uncrossed his arms so he could place his hands on his hips once more. “I see…” he growled. “What about my weapons?” Fingers drummed the sides of the empty holsters. The only indication he had them so tightly fisted earlier was in the way he flexed them as he drummed. “With the sanction of this mission, will you return Mercy and Redemption to me?” he asked. Oh how he hated having his guns taken away from him for any reason that wasn’t his own and being forced to ask for them back.

 

The third head spoke up once more. “ **You will take this amulet to collect the souls in.** ” To one side, a pool of magma glowed brightly as a palm sized amulet rose up to hover at shoulder height. “ **Once they have been collected, you WILL return them to us. As for your weapons, you may have only one.** ” Next to the amulet, a four barrel pistol rose out of the magma. But instead of floating like the amulet, it was instantly dropped. The gun bounced once, then skidded perilously close to one of the lava pools before it came to a stop.

 

With a few quick strides, Strife bent down, snatched his pistol from the ground and started inspecting it for damage. The council was not known for treating their weapons with any care. Their only concern was whether or not the weapon functioned enough to get the job done.

 

“ **If you do this mission correctly, your punishment will not be as harsh,** ” added the second head.

 

Snarling silently, Strife moved to collect the amulet. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. “How will I know which souls I’m to collect?”

 

All three heads started to chuckle darkly. “ **You will know…** ” they said in unison before going silent. A clear dismissal if there ever was one.

 

Strife swallowed down the revulsion as he grabbed the amulet from mid-air. He could feel the hungry touch of the necromantic vacuum as it slithered against his soul. Quickly he transferred the amulet to an empty pouch on his gun belt, then turned and left the platform, descending the stairs and passing War once more.

 

“Poor unwanted Strife… never good enough.... Always the last to be chosen for anything….” Mocked War with a growl.

 

With a snarl, Strife pulled Mercy from its holster, reversed his grip and slammed the butt of the pistol into the side of his brother’s head. “At least I’m not the council’s little angelic whipping boy,” Strife growled back as he holstered the gun then walked away, ignoring War’s angry roar. As much as he wanted to claim he was never the cause of an entire race’s, nay an entire realm’s annihilation, he couldn’t. None of them could, for they were Nephilim.

  
  



	4. Ever have one of those days?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s said that Lady Luck is a fickle bitch and it’s the truth. Just ask Strife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Until an official Strife/Darksiders 4 game is released, liberties have been taken with his personality. I'm also taking liberties with his powers/skills and relationship with the other 3. It's stated that when they became the Horsemen, the Charred Council gave them immense powers, so I figure the council's mood reflects what powers they do or do not have access to. And last but not least, I admit that I am influenced by other authors writing styles, character personalities/perspectives and concepts of how things are in the Darksiders verse.
> 
> A/N 2: Very minor edit in chap 2, as it was pointed out by the guest reviewer, Angels in the Darksiders verse have been shown as having skin tones ranging from tanned -Abddon, Azrael, & Uriel- to swarthy -Nathaniel- with Jamaerah being the only one seen that was more pasty pale than healthy 'pink' and I admit, I fell into the stereotypical thinking of "angels are Caucasian."

“Ever have one of those days?”

EW+24

 

When Strife stepped out of the void between realms, he found himself in the heart of one of Earth’s ruined cities. Even after more than two decades, the stench of death and decay with an undertone of rot hung in the air. He could smell it even with the helmet on. After a quick search of the area, he found nothing he was even close to familiar with (not like he came to earth regularly or anything). The last time he was on earth was when they had to retrieve War, who’d gone a little bit crazy with bloodlust. That had been centuries ago.

 

Cursing under his breath, he began the process of finding the highest vantage point so he could figure out where to go from there. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cross paths with the demons who were claiming the area or not. Least not till after he had more information. Why fight when there’s other ways of getting what you want?

 

But luck was not on his side this day. While trying to traverse the broken, twisted and often swampy ruins to reach the outskirts, Strife ran into back to back to back groups of demons. He also discovered the Charred Council had messed with his gun.

 

All of the first group were nothing more than mindless minions, easy enough to deal with by taking them out at a distance. Except where once, a single shot (usually to the head) was more than enough to take one out (sometimes more if they lined up just right), now it required more than a half dozen shots each. He was forced to take to higher ground, out of the minion’s reach and pick them off tediously one by one. The second discovery was that he now had limited ammo and had to wait for it to reload once he ran out. It was something he could work around but damned inconvenient given he was dealing with a pack of bloodthirsty demonic minions. 

 

Que the second group of demons showing up. These were the semi-intelligent front line cannon fodder types. Once they figured out what was going on, the more eager charged into the fray. They were picked off as soon as they started to climb up to where the Horseman was, though not always in time. A boot to the head helped solve that problem. The trouble with this group was, the smarter cannon fodder kept out of range but that also kept them from being able to do anything either. Except for maybe roar, which alerted the third group of demons.

 

“There he is!.. Kill Him!”

 

“Oh come on!” Strife yelled in frustration, avoiding the gorehammer’s spike and subsequent explosion. Never had he had so much trouble befo- wait.. Scratch that. He’s had this type trouble before but usually in the form of half or wholly naked partners discovering he was was just using them for something or other. Then there was that one time when the entire brothel went after him. He ended up killing everyone there as well. He was forced to move from his partially covered positions a dozen times before he was able to get his hands on one of the gorehammers. After that, all bets were off as to who would win this little incident.

 

When all was said and done, Strife was the only one left alive and still in one piece. He was grinning like a maniac, not that anyone could see it though. “They’ve improved it since the last time I got my hands on one of these,” he muttered to himself as he ran a hand over the demonic weapon. “And it’s all mine now.” He spent a few minutes testing the overall range and accuracy of the gorehammer before tracing runes in the air. A small portal opened and he shoved the weapon through then closed it. Dusting his hands off, he readjusted his scarf then got busy gathering up the spoils of the fight.

 

The sudden change in the air, from decay and rot to scorched ozone along with the prickly, staticy feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck rose was the only warning Strife received. With a swallowed oath, he bolted for the nearest path out of the area. He didn’t make it more than fifteen paces before he was picked up and thrown bodily into the side of an already unstable, crumbling building. With a groan, the weakened supports gave way, sending the rotted and rusted structure crashing down around the gunner.

 

It’s said that Lady Luck is a fickle bitch and it’s the truth. Just ask Strife.


	5. Who? Where? Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wake up in a strange place? You're not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, some chapter titles are song titles. I try to keep 1 chapter between what's posted and what I'm working on. And I subscribe to the fanon idea of the Fallen, not game cannon. As in, Angels are big on rules, the caste system and kicking out those that have broken the rules and/or gone against the edicts handed down by the council of elder angels. How far one falls also depends on the personality, morals and ethics of the angel that has been cast out. Wings tend to go from brilliant white to dirty gray to dark gray to black. I also consider corrupted angels and fallen angels to be different, but that doesn't mean a fallen can't be corrupted too…and enough from me.

05

“Who? Where? Why?”

EW24+ (cont.)

 

When Strife came to, he found himself haphazardly sprawled on top of a thick pallet in some run down, but infestation free, room. With a groan, he sat up and looked around. From the angle of the light coming through the poor excuse of a window, he’d been out for at least an hour or two. Closing his eyes, he did a mental review of himself and came up short. The blistering curses he bit out had enough Power behind them to actually cause the old wallpaper to blacken and peel in some places. He was still cursing himself for being a fool when the light disappeared as someone stepped into the doorway. Mercy was in his hand, cocked and ready to fire, at the person in less than a heartbeat.

 

“Easy! Easy!” came a voice. The words spoken in the Angelic language.

 

Strife turned his head, eyes narrowed, to look at the person. “Mikeal?” His hand holding Mercy didn’t waiver one bit. “What in the name of all creation is going on? And why in Hell’s name are you here?” he asked in the same language.

 

With hands still up at shoulder height, palm outward, Mikeal kept his eye on the weapon. “Uh.. Strife? Would you mind either holstering your gun or pointing it somewhere else? It’ll make explaining things a little easier.. or at least make me feel better while explaining it..” The click of hammer being uncocked had the Fallen relaxing tense wings and dropping his hands.

 

“My part is done, now yours,” Strife ordered as he scooted back to lean against the wall.

 

“I’m gonna just grab a stool…” Mikeal said as he pointed to the doorway. He ducked out of the room only to return a moment later with a stool. Settling with his back to the opposite wall and wings arched over his head to keep his pinions off the ground. “So, how much do you know about what’s going on here on Earth?” he asked, propping his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

 

Strife shrugged, “About as much as anyone else who’s in the rumor loop.” He still hadn’t holstered his gun.

 

“Well...Humans aren’t as dead as everyone seems to think. They survived, even learned how to fight back. Seems some of their scholars figured out that some of them were even able to cross-breed with both sides of the conflict. The leaders of the human factions got together and started up a plan to breed their own half-bloods to act as their slave army,” Mikeal explained. He rubbed his chin as he gathered his thoughts. “All of the Twilight Brigade is here and we’re not the only Fallen mercenary company taking advantage of the chaos, you realize that right?”

 

Nodding, Strife finally holstered Mercy. “It does not surprise me at all.”

 

Wings flexed and resettled as Mikeal continued on. “So far Commander Adakar has been pretty strict on what he will and will not allow. The rest of the mercenary companies… not so much. Especially the Demon ones...”

 

“And what does your commander allow?” Strife asked.

 

“No kidnapping younglings from any of the White City outposts. No matter how hated we are or how much we hate them. Demons on the other had is fair game, be it extermination or giving the usable ones over to the humans to do with as they please,” Mikeal said with a laugh. “Guarding human settlements or caravans between settlements. And of course, the brothels are always fair game. The humans give bonuses if the breeders get with child.”

 

Hidden behind the helmet, Strife’s lips curled up in a sneer. “And how many have you beget so far?”

 

Hearing a subtle nuance in the question, the Fallen studied the Horseman for several long moments before answering. “None. I learned long ago what magics to use to prevent unwanted offspring. So far, none of the humans have caught on yet that all who serve under Commander Adakar use the same preventative magics. Human’s still can’t tell us apart it seems.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, I already have three still living from before my fall, why should I bother with more? It’s not like I have much in the way to offer a child right now.”

 

Strife let out a snicker, his mood shifting like mercury. “You mean you’re still gambling and whoring your pay away?”

 

With a grin bordering on lecherous, Mikeal leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But of course, what else would I do with it? Save it up, thinking I’ll retire one day to some out of the way settlement where no one would look twice at me for being Fallen?”

 

“That’s like claiming I’ll be a father one day, raising a child or children away from the Council’s control,” Strife replied.

 

Uncrossing his arms, Mikeal clapped his hands together then dropped them to his thighs. “So, what do you need, how soon do you need it, and do I even want to know or be part of it?”

 

The Horseman, leaned back with arms spread. “Me? What makes you think I’m up to anything but my own pleasure?” he asked with fake innocence. It might have been believable had he not been wearing his helmet.

 

The Fallen just snorted. “Hmmm.. your younger brother was right in the middle of the start of the End War. Everyone’s blaming him for starting it even. Your sister is currently leaving a long and wide bloody path in her single mindedness in going after the Sins. And I do not want to imagine what it would be like should Death show up.”

 

“In that case, you don’t want to know,” Strife said then chuckled darkly. He held up a hand and started ticking off points. “Where am I? Can you get me a map of this realm..er world? I’ll need something to help blend in other than my armor. And how would I go about moving to other settlements should the need arise?”

 

“Hmmm….” Mikeal hummed as he scratched his chin. He’d seen the Horseman sans his armor before, back when they frequented the same establishments. Then there was the one incident where demons showed up trying to make a name for themselves. That was one image that still stuck with him; the gunner with nary a stitch, pissed off at having his fun interrupted, slaughtering everything that came at him, humans included, as the city burned around him. “Are you going to repeat what you did here on earth all those centuries ago?” he asked.

 

Strife had removed his helmet and was running a hand through his haphazardly shorn hair when the question was asked. “Which one was that?”

 

“I believe the humans called the city Rome. Something about the human leader playing a musical instrument as the city burned around him. Nero I think was the name.”

 

“That one was Not my fault. I just happened to be there at the time it happened,” Strife argued back as he contemplated how much of his armor to keep and how much to discard for the moment. He wasn’t positive that if he dismissed it that he could recall it again. Which reminded him he needed to summon Grief sometime soon and let him know what was going on. The steeds were way smarter than anyone gave credit for.

 

“Uh-huh.” The Fallen didn’t sound too convinced. “Well… you could probably pass as human still. Granted a rather larger than strictly average, well built human, but human nonetheless. Your complexion is a little lighter than what I’ve seen around here as well.” As Mikeal stood up, the elbow joints of his wings brushed the ceiling. “Let me see what I can find that might fit you. And a map, correct?”

 

“Yeah. A map. If you can’t find anything don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” Strife replied as he stood as well so he could start removing his armor. He wasn’t too concerned about who (or what) else was in the area, if he was in the camp of the Twilight Brigade mercenary company. They were pretty tight about securing their camp when on campaign and had only a couple incidents in their long history. It helped that he was on somewhat friendly terms with them too.

  
~!~

 

When Mikeal returned a little while later, he wished he’d announced his presence a little better. “I found you som- Gaahhh!” He had to throw a hand up in front of his face to block the view of one very nude Horseman standing in the middle of his assigned room. “By the Abyss! I do Not need to see your naked ass parading around my room! Here,” he said throwing the duffle bag that he’d acquired from the human supply officer at Strife. Turning, he spread his wings to ensure no one else was treated to the sight while passing the door either. And only other winged beings would be able to see in the window since they were a few stories up.

 

“You know you want me,” Strife taunted as he wiggled his hips suggestively at the other male, a leering grin plastered across his face. He caught the bag easily, snickering at the other male as he turned his back and spread dark hued wings.

 

“Nuh-uh! Never have, never will!”

 

Barking laughter echoed in the room, accompanied by the rustle of clothing. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Strife added in a sing-song voice.

 

“And I’d like it to stay that way thank you very much,” Mikeal quipped back. “Hedonistic asshole,” was added in a mutter.

 

A few moments later, ripping snarls as cloth was parted at the seams. Finally the jingle of metal not of the earth, as boots and gun belts were put on. “Alright you old prude of a feather duster, how do I look?” Strife asked, arms spread once more so he could show off as it were.

 

Mikeal peeked over his shoulder then dropped his wings as he turned. “Color is horrid on you. And your scarf clashes with it as well. Otherwise.. You’ll do I guess.”

 

“Don’t insult the scarf!” Strife shot back, carefully re-arranging the mauve colored material to better hide the amulet. As for the rest of the outfit, he kept his boots, arm length gloves (also mauve colored) and the gauntlets that went over them. He wore a pair of belts a leering skull buckle gunslinger style. Mercy was in the right hand holster while the left was empty currently. Skin tight shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of many-pocketed cargo pants, both a drab gray-green, finished everything off. Everything else had been shoved into the duffle.

 

The Fallen just shook his head as he rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’ll show you around the outpost before my guard shift starts. Then you’re on your own.” He gestured towards the door. “And do me a favor.. Don’t cause too much trouble? I don’t need to be on the Commander’s disciplinary list any time soon.”

 

“Docks your pay does he?” Strife asked as he followed the other male out of the room.

 

“Worse, he docks pay and bans you from pleasure houses until you’re rotated out to another post.”

 

“Ohh.. ouch.. That’s a cruel and heartless punishment, being banned from those places.”

 


	6. Road to Nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. Strife tends to see-saw back and forth on mood/attitude. That'll get explained later on. I promise. Otherwise, can't think of anything else to add at this time.

06

“Road to Nowhere.”   
EW 24+ (cont.)

  
  


Unlike most Angels, Mikeal didn’t mind walking. It gave him a better perspective on his surroundings and allowed him to spot possible ambush locations that couldn’t be seen from the air. Upon leaving the Twilight Brigade camp, he pointed out the location of other mercenary companies that was trustworthy enough to not sell out at the first sign of trouble. And those that would kill at the slightest provocation. There was even a small group of Angels with accompanying Guardians stationed in the area. He also pointed out the fortifications the humans had erected.

 

“How good are they?” Strife asked with a slight nod of his head in the directions of the wall with its roving armed guards.

 

Mikeal glanced up to where Strife indicated. “There’s always room for improvement.”

 

“Hmm…” The gunner shifted the bag to his other shoulder as he openly studied the weapons mounted upon the wall and the humans manning them.

 

The Fallen let out a laugh. “Do not fear Horseman, for they are no match for you in your chosen field of battle.” He clapped his hand on the Horseman’s shoulder then made a gesture towards an open gate.

 

The part of the compound Mikeal took Strife to was designated as ‘neutral’ ground. A place where Human, Angels, Fallen and Demon mingled. The later three with open hostility, while the former with anything from awe and reverence to pure hatred for one or both sides of the conflict. Fights were common between the demons and the angels (Fallen or not), but were quickly moved to the areas assigned for such things. Rare was the fight between a human and a Demon or a Fallen. Angels were barred from fighting and openly ridiculed for it. Rarer still, was for the human to win the fight, though they were never killed outright, they almost always died from the injuries. They were just so fragile.

 

When they reached the gate, Mikeal pulled two small medallions from his belt and showed it to the guards on duty. After few words and several gestures, they were pointed towards one of the structures off to one side of the roadway.

 

“What was that about?” Strife asked, still following Mikeal even as he studied the area for ambushes and traps. His free hand resting on Mercy’s grip, in a not so subtle warning that he was more than willing to deal with any problems in his own way.

 

The Fallen shrugged, wings arcing above his head before resettling against his back. “In order to get you what you asked for, I had to make a deal with the supply officer. She wanted to see you for herself and possible make you an offer.”   
  


“And why would she want to make me an offer?” the Horseman asked, his tone holding promise of retaliation should anything not to his liking happen.

 

Mikeal stopped and turned to face the gunner. “I told her you were a former balance keeper turned freelance mercenary. It was as close to the truth I could tell her without revealing too much of what little I do know.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he tilted his head to one side. “Even with physical proof that Angels and Demons exist, they still have a hard time believing. Even after more than two decades of us tearing their world apart. Besides, my youngest -Ezra- is part of the group sent as representatives from one of the White City’s outposts. This way I can at least see him on a somewhat regular basis even though it makes him angry as can be that I’m alive and doing well.”

 

Narrowed eyes relaxed as Strife took his thumb off Mercy’s hammer. “That’s devious. What’s your presence got to do with his feathers being so ruffled?”

 

Mikeal uncrossed his arms, wings dropping slightly as he untensed. “Still blames me for the death of my eldest, his brother.”

 

Strife motioned with his hand for them to start moving again. “What happened?”

 

“You’re brother happened.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“War.”

 

“That.. sounds about right for him. Death will at least try to be diplomatic before he starts slaughtering whomever is blocking his path,” Strife pointed out.

 

Mikeal shook his head. “Ezra claims I let Aiden be assigned to the Hellguard battalion that was guarding Abaddon’s secret project just to spite his mother.”

 

“I remember when that happened. For a few centuries after that, we were still getting nasty looks when dealing with the White City,” Strife commented. It happened right around the time someone had found one of the Grand Abominations that had been created by the Nephilim Firstborn at the beginning of their rampage across creation. It forced his elder brother, Death, into informing him and his siblings about the Grand Abominations. 

 

Mikeal went on, “It was clear as the light of the Creator, that boy wasn’t a soldier and didn’t belong there. Had no heart for it, like his glory seeking younger siblings. His mother wouldn’t hear a word of it and insisted he go into the Guard when I argued for him going to the Scholars.” He let out a sigh and shook his head again. “I put the blame squarely on his mother, her hide-bound ways and Abaddon thinking he could hide things from the Charred Council or their enforcers. Here we are. Just give this to the human female with the yellow hair,” he handed one of the medallion’s to Strife before walking away. “Good Luck Horseman and I hope we’re still on the same side next time our paths cross,” he said as he departed.

 

“Thanks… I think…” he muttered as he examined the medallion. One side had the symbol of the Twilight Brigade, the other the symbol for Mankind and around the rim was angelic script citing Mikeal’s name, rank and the name of the campaign. He flipped into the medallion in the air then caught it as he headed to the open doorway of the structure. He paused right in the doorway, taking everything in.

 

The structure had no roof, just several different colored fabrics stretched across the far side to provide partial shade. Guards roamed the upper part of the structure, watching both inside and out. Under the canopy, sat a handful of people. All but one of them was human and sitting on the cloth covered ground. The one non-human was a scholarly looking young angel perched on a stool off to one side. The humans were a mixed lot: all but one were swarthy complected with crow dark hair, gender was evenly split and clothing was a mix as well.

 

Strife spotted the yellow haired female instantly, kind of hard not to since she was sitting several paces forward and dead center of the group. But he could tell she wasn’t the leader. Setting the duffle down just inside the door, he crossed the space then dropped to a crouch in front of a young looking human male and nodded respectfully. Turning slightly he nodded to the battle scared older male sitting to the right. (See? He could be diplomatic, polite and charming when he wanted to be instead of an asshole he normally is.)

 

When the young male started speaking, the angel did the translating. Occasionally the older male would add to what was said, but otherwise everyone else was quiet. Strife would in turn, respond when and where appropriate. What he got out of it all was; the young man was the ruler of the area, the older male was the father and military leader, he was to play nice with everyone, to obey the laws and if he couldn’t do that, to either leave quickly and quietly or face the consequences. Any assistance in day to day issues like guarding the farmers as they work, hunting (food or problematic demons/wildlife) and/or clearing the old city would be greatly appreciated and rewarded. Now, what is your business and how long are you staying? Thank you for visiting, come back again, have a nice day.

 

Strife took a few moments to come up with the right words that wouldn’t give away anything at the same time. “Let him know I’m here to hunt down and capture a group of rogue beings that have, so far, escape punishment. Once I am sure none are within his lands, I continue my hunt elsewhere.” He was smiling pleasantly as he cut his eyes to the side and looked directly at the angel. “Do you know who I am? If not then I’m sure you’ll be told soon enough. There’s no need for that information to be spread about just yet and if it does, I know who blame if it does.” And implied threat was sometimes even better at keeping someone in line than an actual threat. “Now smile nicely and laugh as if I told you an amusing little ditty. Got that? Good.” He let out a laugh then turned to the young male and made an apologetic gesture as if he momentarily forgot to whom he was speaking. A few minutes was spent in idle chit-chat while expertly evading answering anything about himself before the young male up and left with his entourage without saying so much as a goodbye. He stayed crouched for a little while longer as he listened to the guards leave. When only the sounds was of the wind rustling the fabric and life outside the structure walls was left, he finally stood up and stretched. “Well that could have gone better,” he muttered to himself as he gathered up his bag and departed.

 

“It could also have gone much worse,” someone said. In the dead language of the Nephilim.


	7. Tilt-a-Whirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my phantom editor for without her my grammar would suck. The Horsemen's gifts are not uniquely my own, as I'm pretty sure other people have had the same ideas at some point. It will also explain Strife's attitude changes somewhat. A bit of flubbing on Fury's cause, well, the game hasn't been released yet. Currently working on Chap 10 as Chap 8 & 9 sit in holding as things get tweaked here and there.

 

EW24+ (cont)

  
  


Strife didn’t even blink before he grabbed the person by the throat, dragged them into the structure and slammed them back first, into a wall. “Who.. Are… You..” he snarled, eyes harder than steel as they glowed a bright sulfur yellow. Barely a hair's breadth separated their faces as the person’s feet were over a foot off the ground.

 

The person didn’t take too kindly to being choke-slammed against a wall. Their lips pulled back in a snarl as they wrapped their hands around the forearm of their attacker and dug into tendons and nerves with their thumbs… or tried to. It was like trying to split solid rock with their fingers. The blows they managed to land with their feet as they kicked were just as ineffective. 

Strife pulled the person away from the wall then shoved them back against it, momentarily stunning them. “I asked you a question. Who Are You?!” he growled.

 

The next few things happened within a few heartbeats of each other.

 

Strife didn’t get to say or do much more before he heard the sound of feathers cutting through the air then felt a sudden gust of wind followed by the whump of armored feet hitting the ground. He was forced to let go of the person as one hand wrapped around his wrist and squeezed while another grabbed his shoulder, half yanking, half spinning him away from his prey...er victim.. Dark hued feathers blocked his view, indicating it was one of the Fallen that had come to the person’s rescue.

 

Mikeal had heard/felt the wards he had crafted around his friend scream and shudder then start to crack as she was assaulted. He was in the air with one powerful downsweep of his wings, arcing up then diving down a moment later as he saw who all was involved. A hard landing with a powerful backwing, two steps and he had his hands on the Horseman. One on his wrist, the other on his shoulder as he shoved then swept his wing in to seperate them. His head was forced up as the cool metal of the quad-barreled gun was pressed up into his chin.

 

That friend, the one Strife had choke slammed against the wall, turned out to be the yellow haired human female. When she was dropped, she staggered, nearly getting knocked back, yet again, into the wall as Mikeal’s wing came in from the side to block the other male. She reached up and covered her throat, checking for bleeding as she hacked and coughed between gasping breaths. “What…” she coughed again then drew another breath. Her voice was hoarse thanks to the vice like grip that had been around her throat a few moments ago. “What.. the actual fuck!?” she spat. “You said he was safe Mikeal.”

 

The entire tableau was one big fluster-cluck as each party heard the words come out in their native language. Angelic and Nephilim for the two males while the female heard German.

 

“Aw shit….” Mikeal uttered. Carefully telegraphing every move he was making, as he didn’t want his head blown off thank you very much, he let go of Strife’s wrist and reached back with his palm up. “Hand me your amulet, would you please? I’ll explain in a moment.”

 

The woman glared at the back of the Fallen for a moment but did as asked.

 

The Fallen took the amulet and held it up for the Horseman to see. “All it does is allow the wearer to understand any language spoken that they do not already know. It also translates the wearers words into the native language of whomever the wearer is speaking to. I..ah..I didn’t think about… you know… you or.. your..the others..” Mikeal started out strong but finished up weak as the amulet was snatched from his hand. But at least the pistol barrels had been removed from under his chin.

 

He may have removed Mercy from under Mikeal’s chin, but that didn’t mean he had holstered it. As soon as the amulet was in hand, he could feel the magics imbued into it. It was crafted with care and intended to be helpful, not maliciously cruel. “Change it,” Strife ordered. “That race is dead. Anything and everything to do with them have been wiped from the face of creation. Do you understand me?” He clenched his hand, but felt no give in the amulet so knew he couldn’t crush it. Dropping the amulet he stalked towards the doorway, stopping only long enough to grab his bag. “And if you can’t change it, destroy it and make another without THAT language.” 

 

When the amulet was dropped, the woman couldn’t understand what was being said but from the look of things, the conversation was at an end anyways.

 

Once Strife was gone, Mikeal let out the breath he was holding and practically sagged against the wall. “Praise the creator that didn’t turn nasty…” he said as he bent down to retrieve the amulet. He spoke in German, with a bit of an accent, but clear enough his friend could understand without any problems.

 

“And what do you call this?” the woman asked sarcastically, pointing to her neck.

 

“Too close of a call. Seek out Ezra and ask if you can have their healer look at your injury,” Mikeal said. “If he asks why, just let him know the newest arrival took exception to the language used. He should understand if gossip of Strife’s presence has made it that far.” He gently ran metal clad fingers across the rapidly darkening skin of his friend’s throat. “And know that I am sorry for what he has done to you. It was never my intent for you to come to harm over this.” He stepped back and spread his wings. “I have to go. I’ll see you after my shift is over.”

 

The woman nodded. “Be safe.”

 

“You too,” Mikeal replied as he took to the skies.

  
  


To say the Horseman was in a nasty temper was an understatement. He disliked being reminded of what he was, even at the best of times, but he still held no regret for his part in the slaughter of his kin. His expression kept all but the most foolhardy, or those with a death wish, from approaching him. Civilians quickly scurried out of his path. Merchants went from hawking their wares at him to uttering an apology and going silent till he passed. Guards tightened their grip on their weapons and watched with a wary eye as he passed. Even the pleasure house madams quicky shooed their girls inside and guarded the door.

 

The only ones truly stupid enough to cross Strife’s path were the demons. But when it came to the Charred Council enforcers, the demons were always willing to try and kill them to make a name for themselves. The area he was in currently was heavily populated by demons and the dredges of what was left of local human populace so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to be killed on daily basis, sometimes hourly even. When he finally left the area, there was fewer demons than when he entered, not that anyone seemed to care.

 

Hours after he had stalked away, Strife found himself perched on the top of somewhat still intact statue. Behind him were the skeletal remains of glass and metal towers that rose up like the grasping hand of the dead against hazy skyline. Settling back he slipped into the second sight which let him see the chaos that was all around him.

 

From what he could See of the area, the city itself was once massive and spread out. Over-crowded, filled with barely controlled disorder as the different factions clashed over everything from food and shelter to slights and insults, real or imagined. He tracked the small eddies of calm order amists the raging torrent of upheavals, usually centered around temples to the local gods. He saw the moment the first meteor fell in the city, unleashing the battling angel and demon upon the populace. Evidence showed that the poor who lived in the slums fared little better than the upper classes of the city did once the two opposing armies arrived. Huge areas were decimated from fires that ranged uncontrolled. Fires created by fleshbursters as they exploded and from maelstroms as they let loose their fireballs into the crowds of panicked humans. In a few areas, Angels were mobbed by the masses in the belief that the winged beings would bring salvation. In some cases, the angel was torn apart as everyone tried to get a piece of the “Holy being”. In others it was the angel that shredded the humans in the belief that they were under the spell of demons and their souls must be released from the eternal torment. As for the demons, they basked in the utter destruction they were creating. He could have stayed there, riding the bliss of chaos over the last century. It was better than any drug, drink or pleasure he could ever find. But he had a mission to accomplish, so he slowly let the sight go.

 

Each Horseman was uniquely gifted. Death could tell when and where, well, death had occurred just by being in the area, which in turn helped to boost his necromantic abilities. War was one of the best battle strategists in all of creation, when he wasn’t carried away with battle and blood lust that is. Fury had her own gift, and even being her twin, the gunner still didn’t understand exactly what it was, other than it heightened her own impressive mage abilities. As for Strife, his gift was Chaos. He could sense it, see and feel the ebb and flow all around him, he could even manipulate it up to a point. And when he wanted to, he could even track it back through time but never forward.

 

For a few moments, both normal and second sight overlay each other. He could see the inroads the humans had made at clearing away the debris, taming the encroaching vegetation and making open fields for farming and grazing. He believed it was all for naught though. All it would take is a couple of rot maulers or abominations and all the progress would be unmade. The very land would become toxic, twisted and corrupt. Uninhabitable by all but demons and fallen. Humans were doomed, they were just too stubborn and hopeful to admit it he thought.

 

He would have stayed there for longer, if the amulet had not suddenly come to life, pulsing with a greedy hunger for souls. Much like a certain demon merchant he knew. With a sneer, Strife dug the amulet out from the folds of his scarf, pulling it off completely then held it up. As he watched, the accursed object swayed as if searching then moved till it was pointed in one direction. Grumbling a variety of curses under his breath, he stuffed the amulet into a belt pouch then made his way to the ground. Moonrise had come and gone by the time he located the person, or rather the soul, the amulet hungered for.

 

Below his position, a small group of demons and fallen were in serious negotiations over what looked to be a half-breed heavy with child. He didn’t need to see chaos to know how much tension was barely held in check between the two groups. All it would take is a tiny nudge to tip the scales. With a feral grin, he did just that. He heard the girl scream at one point during the fight, but didn’t see any evidence of her death. When silence finally settled, he left his position to survey his handy work. None of the demons survived, all but one fallen was dead, and the girl was barely hanging on. After a quick check, he decided the girl would survive long enough for him to question the fallen.

 

“What were you going to do with the girl?” Strife asked as he crouched next to the grievously injured angel.

 

“Selling her… to the… demons. Their master was paying a… high price for a half-breed bitch…. With a belly full of bastard offspring… Help.. me… help me.. And I’ll split the profit with you… we can get more.. Have fun with them… sell em back…” the Fallen said between gasps, face contorting between pain and a leering, sadistic pleasure at the thought of forcing himself on another female.

 

“Hmm… happen to know the name of their master?” Strife asked as if pondering the offer, looking at the girl as he did to judge how much life she had left in her.

 

The fallen let out a bloody bark of laughter. “What?... and let you have all of it?.... Don’t think so… Help me…. then I might tell you.”

 

“Nope,” Strife said with a grin as he stood up, drew Mercy and fired a single round right between the Fallen’s eyes. “Never cared for that sort of thing,” he added to himself as he moved over to the girl. “You’re times almost up sweetheart. Nothing I could do would save you from that wound… and you don’t even understand what I’m saying. Do you?” Strife could see that the girl, barely out of childhood, was clearly a half-breed demon. It was the only reason she was still alive.

 

The confused and scared expression on the girl never wavered, even as she attempted to keep breathing with a demonic axe cleaved half-way through her chest.

 

“Didn’t think so…” Strife muttered as he knelt down, unmindful of the blood. He pointed at the girl then the axe and made the simple gesture of slitting a throat then pointed at her. Easiest translation was ‘you’re as good as dead.’

 

The girl moved one hand as best she could, going for her belly with a questioning look now that her scared confusion had ebbed away.

 

With a fake smile, Strife reached out and placed his hand over her belly. He wished he had never done so the instant his hand came to rest on her distended midsection. The moment he made contact, he felt the souls of the unborn and he knew them. Without any shadow of a doubt he knew these souls and felt nothing but horrified disgust. They were Nephilim souls. Twin Firstborns who were killed when he was still a youngling, long before Eden. So twisted and tainted and horrifying in their depravity that even other Nephilim avoided them.

 

Taking his wide eyed expression for one of amazement instead of what it was, the girl drew one more shuddering breath, closed her eyes and let go.

 

The Horseman snatched his hand away the moment the girl’s soul escaped. Covering his mouth, he thought he was going to be sick for the first time in eons as those two souls tried to latch onto his own. Shooting up, he searched the area looking for another weapon to use but found none. So instead, he yanked the demonic axe free of the body. Digging the amulet out of his pouch with one hand, he dropped it on the body so that nothing would interfere as it claimed the souls. Grabbing the axe with both hands, he swung it up, then brought it down in a powerful cleave that even War could be proud of, ending the Nephilim’s soul-tainted rebirth before their lives could begin again.

 

Once the souls were claimed by the amulet, a dark presence slithered off of it. “Those were….delicious…. Find me more Horseman... ” The voice was dark and hungry, oh so hungry, as it whispered through Strife’s mind before settling back into the amulet.


	8. Hungry Like a Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers calmed, loot sorted out, a much needed bath followed by food and a bet between friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it would be more amusing if Strife's Steed was female. It keeps the 3-to-1 male to female ration going. Still about 1-2 chapters ahead. This gives me plenty of time to go back and correct anything to keep the story flowing... or attempt to at any rate...much thanks to my phantom editor and thanks again for reading

EW+24 (cont)

  
  


Eight days later, Strife returned to the human settlement. And with him came a pure white horse unlike any that had been seen since before the End War had started. The horse, a mare, was also larger than any horse previously seen on earth. But she wasn’t of the earth. She was a creature of the Far Fields with blood of creation flowing through her veins. Her name was Grief, she was Strife’s steed and like her rider, she thrived on chaos. And no matter what anyone said, she was not dainty! It wasn’t her fault Ruin tended to make everyone else look small when standing next to him.

 

After the Rider had harvested those first two souls and had his first encounter with whatever it was that possessed the amulet, he summoned his steed. Once he was in the saddle, he slumped forward to rest his head against the back of her neck with his arms hanging down on either side. He proceeded to tell Grief everything that had happened since his arrival as she picked her way through the human’s ruined city. As far as he knew, he talked to(with?) his steed much more often than his siblings talked to theirs. The pair ended up in an area that looked to have been a park or wildlife refuge once and had remained relatively untouched. 

 

A day later, the pair left the park/wildlife refuge area. They worked their way back towards the Twilight Brigade camp, stopping whenever something caught Strife’s eye. So though it was a short distance as the crow flies, they covered a large area in their back and forth, up and down traversal of the landscape. The pair also dealt with whatever demons they came across. By the time they did reach the settlement, Strife had a large, long case strapped to Grief’s saddle and a few bags of various sizes hanging off it.

 

Grief, for her part, wasn’t too happy about being a glorified pack mule for her rider and she showed it. Whenever they came to a narrowed path she would crowd him. When following she would lip at his hair or scarf or both, soaking them with her slobber. And of course, when she lead the way, she would drag her feet or flick her tail in his face.

 

“Alright! Alright! I get it. Next time I’ll carry whatever we find instead of you,” Strife grumbled holding out the end of his scarf which was sodden wet with phantom equine drool. Not the most pleasant of smells when mixed with demon’s blood, foul swamp water, soot and toxic dirt. He wasn’t the vainest of creatures but even he had standards when it came to his appearance and personal hygiene. “At least I’ve never used you as a battering ram,” he muttered as he gave up trying to keep the end of the scarf away from him and just took it off completely. He would have drapped it over her saddle but knew from experience that Grief would just yank it off, making sure it landed in the dirtiest part of the path, and walk all over it in passing.

 

“Well well look what the hellhound finally dug up,” Mikeal said in greeting as he descended to the ground. He flapped his wings a few times before shifting positions. “By the abyss you stink!” He added as he made sure to keep his wings fanning the smell away from him. “What did you do? Find a rot mauler and rolled in its carcass before it became ash?” 

 

Strife just scowled as Grief nickered in amusement. 

 

The Fallen just laughed then made a half bow to the Rider’s Steed. “Greetings gracious lady. Why do you put up with this smelly scoundrel?”

 

Grief snorted then shook her head. Wisps of the ethereal white mists that made up her mane danced about her face before settling back as if blown by a continuous gentle breeze. Without warning, she suddenly sunk into the ground causing the case and bags to fall to the ground with a ruckus. A moment later, she rose out of the ground, sans tack then pranced away, head held high and tail flagged.

 

“Thanks,” Strife muttered as he eyed the pile in the middle of the path. It took him only a matter of a few minutes to gather everything up and arrange it for easier carrying. “Got any extra space at your camp?” he asked.

 

“Probably. Will have to ask the commander though,” Mikeal replied as he stepped back, wings still trying to dissipate the stench. “We got a bathhouse I know you can most definitely use!” he added as he decided retreat was the best way to get away from the smell. “I’ll meet you there, with something clean you can wear too,” he added with a laugh as he took to the air, dodging the piece of rock thrown at him.

  
  


Much later, the two males were sitting in Strife’s newly acquired room, sorting through all the stuff he’d found. All sizes of rectangles made of metal and smoke dark glass. Thin not-books of metal and some other substance that opened like books with stylized apples and other symbols emblazoned across one side. Bottles of different sizes, colors and shapes whose contents rattled or sloshed when shaken. Metal cans of different sizes, none of which had any identifying labels. Tiny wax-paper packages of dark brown tar like substance. Even real books, though not in any language the two of them could read. The case turned out to be full of weapons and ammo, a few knives, some pistols and a couple of riffles.

 

Strife scratched a spot behind and just below his ear in thought. “Now what?” he asked then reached over and plucked a piece of something (it was edible, that’s all that mattered to him) off a large platter. A quick examination then a shrug as he popped it into his mouth and started to chew. He gestured to everything, including the weapons.

 

Mikeal set his tankard down then plucked up a piece of the food. He sniffed the food before taking a bite, humming in thought. “Well, different groups of humans have bounties out for this stuff. Tokens tradable elsewhere in the settlement, credit with merchants, some even trade in flesh if you’re into that,” he said then tossed the rest of the food into his mouth.

 

Leaning back, the Horseman pondered the options. “How about travel to other places? Other human settlements or cities or whatever they call the places their half-breed warriors are created.”

 

The Fallen raised an eyebrow. “What do you want with those poor creatures? From what I’ve heard they’re forced to fight and breed before they leave childhood.” He flexed his wings then resettled them against his back. “Even with the eternal conflict between the heavens and hells, our young get a chance to be young before they go to either the scholars or the warriors. And the demons are fully formed when they emerge from those pits as far as I know.”

 

The Horseman nodded. “They do,” he confirmed as he shifted to prop his chin on his hand. “Let’s just say that if I had my way, I wouldn’t even be here let alone dealing with the humans and their half-breeds.”

 

“Hn…. Well, I can always ask Denea to look it over and see what she thinks it’s worth to the other humans.”

 

“Denea?” Strife asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Mikeal just grinned, “Yeah, the yellow haired female you slammed against a wall.” He picked up a piece of fruit, tossed it in the air & caught it in his mouth. After swallowing he spoke up again. “She’s still pretty mad by the way.”

 

The Horseman just wave a hand, unconcerned. “The day I’m laid low by a mere human by anything except conquest via bedding one of em…..”

 

The Fallen started laughing, hard enough he ended up sprawled on his back, one hand on his forehead the other on his belly.

 

Strife frowned. “What?”

 

“Oh Sweet creation! You really haven’t meet Denea yet if you say that. She’s laid many low after they’ve gotten her mad or tried to do something stupid, like thinking they can force themselves on her,” Mikeal said after sitting back up & shaking his wings out some. “Make you a bet.”

 

The gunner raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What type of bet?”

 

“If she takes you down a few pegs, I get your scarf,” Mikeal held up a hand to stop the Horseman from speaking. “Not permanently. Just until you leave this settlement for the next one. Deal?”

 

Sitting back, fingers tapping his chin in thought before stroking the material draped around his neck, Strife debated the merit of taking the bet. There was nothing special about his current scarf, other than he’d had it for a long while now. His original one had been given to him by the Firstborn who’d recognized the potential in him and taken him under wing. He’d been introduced to pistols and ranged combat when he proved to be average at best at everything else (much to the disappointment of his sister). It had long since fallen to the ravages of time and constant use, not even a scrap left. But what it had left behind was a idea that he could be more than what was seen on the surface. “What do you mean by ‘down a few pegs’?” he asked, curious.

 

The winged male shrugged. “I’ll let you make that determination if and when it happens.”

 

“That hardly seems fair.”

 

“It is what it is,” Mikeal pointed out with a grin.

 

“You know something,” Strife accused, pointing at the Fallen with a piece of food before popping it in his mount.

 

Still grinning, Mikeal picked up his tankard and raised it in a salute. “Of course I do. Have to have something in my favor to be fool enough to go against you when it comes to the luck of a bet.”

  
  


Three days later….

 

Strife slowly unwound the scarf from around his neck and shoulders with one hand, the other was currently used to prop himself up against the wall next to him. “Damn… that Hurts!”

 

“I told you so,” Mikeal replied as he held out a hand for his prize.

 

No matter if the person was Angel, Demon, Nephilim, human or other, when kicked in a very sensitive part of the anatomy, it will hurt. Especially when footwear designed for combat were used and the person that did the kicking put their full weight and power into the kick.

 

Turning, Strife slid down the wall to sit on the ground. He could proudly say he had not been instantly dropped from the hit. “Damn.. I like her,” he flashed a grin at the Fallen, who was the scarf up neatly. “How long do you think she’d hold out if I really charmed her into my bed?”

 

“You are so full of yourself.”

 

“I bet I can make her full of myself too.. And you,” Strife shot back with a leer.

 

The winged male just face palmed with a groan. “That is Not… you know what? Never mind…” he made a rude gesture at the now laughing Horseman. “Oh, you might want to go check on your steed. I heard the humans are gathering to worship her as a messenger of one of their gods. Good luck getting her back any time soon!” He spread his wings and took to the air after tucking the scarf away in his breastplate.

 

“Wait.. what?... No fair! Get back here!” Strife cried as he scrambled to his feet to chase after the Fallen.

  
  
  



	9. Road of the Gypsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel to New, Exotic Locations & Enjoy the custom of the local population!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember.. 1- This is based on a game. 2- Fanatics are not restricted to just one thing. 3- Religious zealots are not restricted to just one religion. They happen in ALL religions.

****

EW24+

  
  


By the time he had left the settlement, Strife had not only been unable to convinced the locals that Grief was ‘just a horse’ and not some avatar, messenger, mount or anything else to do with the gods of their religious belief, but somehow managed to convince them with his denial that he was also some servant of the gods sent to assist their chosen. Their departure caused something of a small riot from the diehard fanatics, who against the advice, orders and even threats of punishment from the ruling body, followed.

 

Mikeal, who was having too good of a time with all that was going on, asked for and received permission from Commander Adakar to accompany the Horseman. It was understood that should he get into any trouble, there would be no assistance forthcoming from the Twilight Brigade and that when he was ready to return, there would be a place for him. He wasn’t the only one either as several other members had made the same request he had, but for different reasons.

 

As for Denea, well it turns out that she was already a member of the world’s united military and part of the regiment that was overseeing the Battleborn program in this region of the world. It was their job to see to the security of the program’s staff and participants as well as make sure they made it to the breeding facility to the west. The distance was over two thousand six hundred miles away as the crow (or angel) flies, but the planned route would be closer to three thousand miles. Presuming they did not run into any major problems along the way. 

  
  


The day before departure…..

 

Strife stared at the fanatical humans chosen form of transportation with curiosity, skepticism, and a hefty amount of amusement. He wasn’t mechanically inclined to begin with, beyond what was required as a gunsmith that is. But the contraption before him made him itch to figure out just what kept it together, what it ran on and how it worked. If it would even work that is and if it did, how far would it make it before breaking down (or being destroyed). Shaking his head, he turned away catching the looks on the faces of the passing soldiers. He had to agree though, the contraption was painted white, with yellow designs all over it. A bit bright and noticeable when compared to all the transportation used by the soldiers.

 

“So… anyone want to take bets on how far they make it?” Strife asked in perfect trade tongue of the kingdom of man (what humans referred to as ‘english’). He used most of his bounty rewards to hire people to teach him both the local and the most commonly used languages of earth. “Or what will get them first?”

 

“They do understand that when we’re attacked, we won’t be defending them. Civilians or not, we don’t have the resources. It was for this very reason they were told not to come,” Denea pointed out.

 

Mikeal joined the pair, on his way to the officer in charge of logistics. Like the Horseman, he was carrying a single duffel bag containing all his possessions here on Earth. “I still say my idea is a good one.”

 

The human woman rolled her eyes. “We can’t use them as fodder when we’re attacked. And we can’t use them as bait either, so don’t even start on that idea,” she said as she crossed her arms, watching those under her command as they finished breaking down a tent. Even though leaving behind items like the tent made sense, seeing how limited space was and how far they had to travel, resources like equipment were drying up so none could be left behind anymore.

 

Tilting his head to the side in thought then scratching his chin, Strife considered the situation. “Well… I could always hint… rather broadly… that their gods would be pleased…. Should we be attacked that is,” he said making a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “After all whoever attacks the caravan obviously doesn’t want us to get where we’re going.”

 

Denea just let out a soft groan as she palmed her face. “Just be here when we leave or you’re getting left behind,” she said as she walked away to deal with a problem.

 

“Don’t think she realizes we can easily catch up or even pass them,” Strife commented.

 

“Nope, don’t think humans in general realize how fast and far we can travel,” Mikeal agreed. He held out a hand, motioning for Strife’s bag. “I’ll see it gets put away properly.”

 

“Stow.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The proper term is ‘stow’,” Strife said. “You’ve been in one militaristic order or another for a long time, you should know the proper terms.” There was nothing of importance in his bag since he was wearing his armor and guns so he handed it over without concern. As he did, his eyes cut down to the winged male’s waist where his scarf was being used as a sash. “It had better be clean when I get it back tomorrow.”

  
  


Two days post departure….

 

The pair were standing on top of one of the vehicles, looking back the way they had come. In the distance, they could see the fanatics transport (what humans call a ‘bus’) moving forward. Even if it was being pushed instead of moving on its own power, it was still moving forward.

 

“By the Creator,” Mikeal swore softly in disbelief. “They are still following. Any sane creature would have given up by now.”

 

“Fanatics are rarely sane my friend,” Strife pointed out.

 

“I know, but… why?.. How?!” 

 

Strife shook his head. “This is the very reason why an enforced ceasefire was imposed by the Charred Council when the Kingdom of Man came into being. Mankind was too young, too easily influenced into tipping the Balance either way.” He crossed his arms, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They are still too young to even be in this mess.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “If the idiot had just waited a little longer or checked with the rest of us….” he added in a mutter.

 

“Who’s too young, what mess and if who had waited?” Denea asked as she climbed over the edge of the vehicle’s roof to join the two males. She was the lucky person to get stuck with the job of babysitting the ‘non-humans’ that had joined the convoy.

 

“Humans and the End War,” Strife replied.

 

The woman just grunted, “I think we’ve come a long way from stone axes and animal skins.” She pulled an object out of a hip pouch and brought it up to her face. “Well damn, I was hoping they’d have given up by now.” Lowering the object she frowned, then raised it and took another look. “By the way, there’s some pretty heated debate going on. Which is correct? The Christian Bible’s description of the origins of Man or the scientists version?”

 

“I’m not getting into this one,” Mikeal quickly stated then took to the sky to scout.

 

“Coward!” Both human and Horseman yelled at the Fallen’s retreating backside.

 

Sitting down, Strife let his legs dangle over the edge of the vehicle’s roof. “Sit,” he said, indicating the spot next to him. “Explain to me the difference.” He held out his hand, making a ‘give me/hand it over’ motion with his fingers and grinned.

 

Denea just rolled her eyes and settled herself down next to the non-human with a sigh as she handed over the binoculars. She’d learned that he would keep pestering till he got what he wanted. “Don’t quote me on this. It’s been a very long time since I’ve picked up a Bible much less read through it, but it goes something like this… The Christian Bible says something along the lines of ‘man was created in the image of god’ then given Eden as a place to live. Woman was created from the rib of man, succumb to the temptation of the devil and took a fruit from the tree of knowledge which is what caused mankind to be kicked out of Eden.” She watched as Strife turned the binoculars this way and that before bringing them up to his face like she had. She reached over and tapped the end that was facing away. “You look through this end,” she said. “As for the scientists, well they say humans evolved from primates. Nature’s trial and error method of seeing what will or won’t survive.”

 

The Horseman hummed as he flipped the binoculars over as instructed, quickly figuring out how to adjust them. His already phenomenal eyesight was able to pick out even more detail at a greater distance with the device. He’d have to see about getting a pair of his own soon. “Well….” he started after some thought, “They’re both right.. Sorta…”

 

“How so?”

 

“The Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell, while being the oldest ones in existence, may or may not have been the first beings ever created. They’ll both argue in their favor. There’s a lot of Old ones that can or could trace their existence back even farther, but most have either died out or been wiped out.” He handed the binoculars back to the human then brought up one knee and crossed his arms over it. “If you notice, all the beings you’ve seen, have the same common body type. Arms, legs, head, center mass. What you call…” he gestured with a hand then snapped his fingers several times as he dug around for the right word.

 

“Humanoid?” Denea asked.

 

“Right, that,” Strife said. “So the whole ‘created in the image of’ is accurate. So there’s a few extra parts here and there, basically all the same. As far as the ‘rib of man’ goes,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t say. All races have their Firstborn. Once enough Firstborn are created, propagation starts on its own.” He took a few moments to eye the human woman up and down then leered suggestively. “I can show you how it’s done. Real thorough like if you want.”

 

The human just snorted then leaned over and patted the Horseman on the cheek. “Nice try kiddo but I’m too old for you and you couldn’t handle me even if you were old enough.” Denea had found the best way to deal with Strife was to give as good as she got.

 

Strife burst out laughing. He really liked this human. It was a shame that as a race, they were so short lived when compared to the other beings. “I still intend to get you in my bed one day,” he grinned.

 

“So Man did show up fully formed and all that like the bible claims,” Denea replied.

 

“No, no…. Not completely.”

 

“Ok.. explain that one then.”

 

The Horseman’s mood became somber and a little sour. “This is where Eden comes in. It’s real.. Or was. It was created to become the Kingdom of Man. A place to learn and grow and mature as a race. To become the third kingdom to balance out Heaven and Hell,” He said. “To be kicked out would mean you’d have to have been there to start. Man never set foot into Eden. It was destroyed before that could happen…. An entire race was slaughtered because of Eden, when they tried to take it for themselves...Out of spite, petty jealousy, envy.. No one knows why. Only that they made the attempt.”

 

“You were there.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

Strife looked away and nodded. He felt no guilt or remorse then and nothing had changed over time.

 

“So humans didn’t originate from there. But they didn’t evolve either like scientists claim?”

 

Strife shrugged again. “Best guess, a newly formed realm was found and Man was put there.. Here.. started mingling with the locals. One thing lead to another and well.. Here you are.”

 

Humming in thought, Denea slowly nodded. “Interesting to know.” She leaned towards the Horseman again, knocking her shoulder into his arm. “Hey. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for I bet.”

 

“I won’t tell if you don’t. Deal?”

 

“Deal.”

  
  


Day eight since leaving the settlement….

 

Pools of blood, bodies and shell casings littered the ground around him but he paid them little heed as he sighted then pulled the trigger. His target’s head exploded in a gory mist of bone, blood and brains. Two more times he repeated the actions before slowly lowering the high powered rifle. Glancing down at the soldier propped against the caved in side of the transport, Strife knew there was nothing to be done for him. After slinging the rifle across his back, he knelt down then took the man’s head in his hands and nodded. A quick twist wrenched the human’s head around, rupturing his vertebral arteries and severing the spinal cord. Death was instant. An end much preferable than the lingering one the soldier’s wounds promised.

 

The Horseman trailed one hand down to the tags about the human’s neck and yanked, snapping the chain holding the tags. They would be added to the collection he had accumulated and turned over to the human in charge of the convoy. Standing, he looked around, making sure he had missed nothing, before gathering what little there was left in both transportable and usable conditions.

 

Grief stood still as the loaded bags were fastened to her saddle. She made no complaint about it this time, instead she swung her head around and nuzzled her rider’s head, ruffling his hair with her breath.

 

“Thanks,” Strife muttered as he rubbed Grief’s forehead in return before climbing into the saddle. “Let’s go,” he said. Like with his siblings, he rarely needed to do anything to get his steed to start moving. He took out another dozen or more scavenging humans along the way to the stationary convoy. Upon his arrival, several soldiers approached but waited till he dismounted and removed the bags to take them. He fished a small pouch out of one of the bags before handing it over.

 

“Your presence is requested at the lead transport,” one of the soldiers said as they accepted the bags.

 

Strife nodded in reply to the soldier as he patted Grief’s neck. “I’ll need you for the rest of the trip,” he told her. The steed bobbed her head up and down then wuffled his hair before walking off to await his return. When he arrived at the lead transport, the remaining ranking officers were in the middle of a meeting. It took a few moments before silence descended and all eyes were on him. “You asked for me?”

 

The ranking officer cleared his throat and glanced around at the others before speaking. “Yes… Would you please give us a report on the situation?”

 

Strife looked around at the men and women gathered. “No survivors. Hostiles removed with extreme prejudice. I was able to retrieve a few bags of supplies, mostly healing supplies and ammo.” He held out the small pouch for the nearest officer to take.

 

“What about….”

 

“No survivors.”   
  


“I see….” the officer said, shoulders slumping.

 

“What’s our standing orders sir?” asked one of the junior ranking officers, a young looking male with a determined expression.

 

“We continue on. Communications was able to boost their signal allowing contact with the Shanghai base. They are aware of the situation here and will try to clear some of the way for us, but made no promises,” the officer said. “Battleborn staff and breeders safety,” his expression soured at that term but he continued on, “are to take top priority. As of now, any human we come across is to be considered hostile and eliminated. When we move out, marksmen are to be position on the transport roofs. It doesn’t matter if it’s an old man or woman, or a child, they are to be killed on sight.”

 

There was some unhappy rumblings from the group about that order, but civilians were the cause of the situation in the first place. What had been thought to be a friendly, if small settlement turned out to be hostiles under the thrall of a lesser demon lord. They had lost almost a quarter of their entire regiment in less than a day.

 

“I’d like you and our allies to perform scouting duties for us.”

 

Strife crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t speak for the Fallen,” he pointed out. “But I’ll pass the request to Mikeal. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to deal with anything we run into. How is Denea?”

 

Word had already spread about the viciousness in which the winged male had taken out the hostiles after his friend had sustained grievous injuries while helping defend the convoy.

 

A second officer spoke up. “The Sergeant will recover though she’ll either be transferred or discharged. Once, missing limbs meant automatic medical discharges, but not anymore. We need all the able-bodied men and women we can get.”

 

“Good. If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll go speak with Mikeal about your request,” Strife said as he uncrossed his arms and turned to go.

 

“Thank you….” the officer started to say, but trailed off unsure of the non-human’s name. He’d heard the male be called ‘Gunner’, ‘Stride’, and quite a few other names.

 

“Gunther Stride,” Strife said, purposely using one of the many mispronunciations of his name. And with that, he was gone from the meeting.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The locals mistake Grief for the Avatar or servant of Hayagriva - Avatar of Vishnu, Knowledge and Wisdom, Consort of Lakshmi.


	10. Silver Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life has been getting in the way. As always, major thanks to my ghost editor :)

EW 25+

  
  


Months passed with meticulous planning and constantly tweaking the chaos that ebbed and flowed through this place. Runes, both destructive and beneficial, were etched secretly all over the base. Friends were made within the right groups and patterns established; bribes and favors spread out, threats when the first two didn’t work. Through it all, the repulsively twisted voice whispered, demanding to be fed the souls it was promised. The amulet itself had been stashed away right where it would be needed.

 

As part of the pattern he had created, Strife would walk through the nursery at least once a day. At first it had been discouraged, but once the humans had noticed the newborns and infants, especially the second phase Battleborn, settled down and were easier to handle, they started encouraging it. Truthfully though, he had been going through the reborn Nephilim, remembering the atrocities they perpetrated in addition to the general genocide and threat to the Balance. They seemed almost excited when he would pick one of them up and trace a naming rune on their bodies, acknowledging who and what they were. After he left the nursery, he would find an excuse to go beyond the walls and go hunting. Demons, angles, feral humans.. It didn’t matter what he hunted as long as he was able to work out his issues.

 

Finally the day had arrived. He kept to his normal routine, including going out hurting after his nursery visit. It was past sunset when he returned, which would make what was about to happen more of a mess. Sitting in his assigned room Strife delved into the Chaos, tracking the currents till he found what it was he was looking for. Normally he would have Grief with him, but he didn’t have that luxury and too many questions would be asked. Plus he needed to be somewhere he could be found easily, thus his room was the best choice. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the chaos energy and pulled with all his abilities, skill and energy then shoved. It was like pulling the support out from under an already unstable structure. Chaos surged and roiled like never before, creating deadly whirlpools of chaotic energy. He held on as long as he could, twisting and tangling the energies he had stirred up before he let go, feeling so drained that he slumped back and let himself pass out.

 

It could have been hours or just a few minutes, but the sudden ceaseless pounding on his door, a newborn’s wailing and the fear lace voice screaming his name brought Strife to his feet in an instant. Stumbling, still exhausted to the point where all he wanted to do was lay down again, he reached the door and yanked it open. “What?!” he snarled, or so he thought anyways. It came out more of a slurred ‘wha…’. Blinking to try and clear the fog from his sight, he almost fumbled when a tiny cloth wrapped bundle was shoved into his arms. The newborn’s wail died off when he automatically brought it up to his chest, hands cradling its body protectively. He sucked in a breath, shocked to a full wakefulness and clarity when skin to skin contact was made. Sight whited out and sound fell into silence as he was drawn into the maelstrom of unfamiliar but not forgotten emotions and sensations.

  
  


The sound of the base klaxon was the first thing he heard as he slowly became aware again. It sounded dull and distant at first before gaining in volume and clarity. The second sense that returned was touch as he felt a steady heartbeat of an infant and tiny puffs of air as its breath ghosted across the crook of his shoulder and neck. Taste and smell returned simultaneously as he tasted ashes and copper while blood, fire and cordite stung his nostrils, under it was the smell of a newborn, horse and sweet hay. When his final sense of sight returned everything was deeply shadowed with the flickering of flames in the distance danced and wavered. Grief’s form stood highlighted in the opening of her stall, turing her pure white coat to a dull gray.

 

“He’s coming around finally,” a female voice said from the other side of Grief.

 

The Horseman’s steed turned and walked back to her rider. Lowering her head she scented the pair, her warm breath ghosting over bare skin before she nuzzled the side of his head then lipped at his hair. Satisfied she backed up and turned to stand guard once more at the opening of the stall.

 

Shadows shifted as Strife gathered his feet under him and used the wall to help stand. “Wha….” he coughed at the foul taste that made itself known and spit to clear it from his mouth. “What happened?” he asked looking down at the infant in his arm. It was a tiny thing, easily held in both hands, fragile yet far stronger than anyone could know.

 

“You happened, my friend,” the shadows said. Movement of air and shadows as dark hued wings folded against the speaker’s back. “Remind me to never, as the humans say, piss you off. You’re damn scary enough with ranged weapons but your other form.. You don’t even need a line of sight to take out your targets.”

 

Names and faces finally matched up in Strife’s still somewhat confused mind. His other form was supposed to be heavy artillery support, able to lay down long range bombardment of variable sizes, not a sniper. It was something he’d have to look into at a later time, for now though, he needed to find out what happened. “Denea? Mikeal? What happened?” The pair exchanged looks before parting to let the gunner see for himself.

 

Most of the base itself was untouched by the disaster. The rest were smoldering ruins around what appeared to be a pillar of flames. Organized chaos as personnel and soldiers battled the flames to keep it from spreading again. Tents were popping up as the overflow of injured came trickling in. The sound of weapon discharging as demons and feral humans attempted to take advantage of the situation echoed off of thick barriers and walls.

 

“How bad is it?” Strife asked as he leaned against his steed, mindful of the infant in his arms.

 

It was Denea who answered this time. “From the reports I’ve heard, the entire nursery was obliterated with the initial explosion and part of the breeder’s quarters. All but one of the phase two infants were killed,” she said as she looked pointedly at the child in the Horseman’s arms.

 

“Oh… damn…” Strife uttered.

 

Mikeal edged a little closer to the Horseman, craning his neck as he tried to get a peek at the child. “So… boy, girl? What does it look like?” He asked. Before he received an answer they were rudely interrupted by shouts of ‘Lay down your weapons’ and ‘hand it over’ as weapons were readied.

 

“What in the nine hells are they thinking,” Denea said before stepping between the trio in the stall and the soldiers. “I want the base commander or whoever’s alive that’s in charge down here ASAP! If you think you can just charge in there and take that infant away from him, then you’re dead and too stupid to know it.”

 

Both groups were at an impasse as they waited for the highest ranking officer that had survived, be it the base commander or someone else. As the minutes ticked by in tense silence, the source of the flames was located and shut down and the smaller fires brought under control and extinguished. It was almost dawn when the highest ranking officers were finally located and informed of the situation. The senior most ranking officer turned out to be from Logistics, a sidelined combat vet with too much experience to just retire completely. Nobody cared that a few body parts were missing if the job got done and supplies didn’t go missing. The scared up officer, within minutes of arriving on scene, had everything sorted out and dealt with, with maximum efficiency. Strife and Company were sent to one of the infirmary tents along with one of the admin clerks to record the information while the soldiers were sent scurrying to secure the walls where a hoard of feral humans had gathered.

 

Reluctantly, Strife handed the infant over to a waiting nurse. He hovered like a looming storm as one of the program doctors examined the child and the admin clerk took down the dictation. 

 

After the basics were recorded (sex, weight, time, etc), the doctor went into details. “The female has no additional limbs and doesn’t show evidence of possible growth at a later stages. There are no horn nodules evident under the skin at this time either. Skin color is an ashe grey hue which could lighten or darken with age. The child does not have any hair so color is unknown. Eye color will be unknown until the child is older but shows signs that a pupil will be detectable.” While the doctor made his examinations, he handled the now screaming child with a clinical detachment. “Now that physical descriptions are out of the way…” he stepped back, indicating for a nurse to take care of the infant when he was shouldered out of the way with the same attitude he’d given the infant.

 

Strife, who stood head and shoulders above the average local human, slid up to the examination table, unmindful of the doctor. He dropped and softened his voice as he spoke to the infant, “Hey hey.. You’re ok. No need for that. There you go…” He took the proffered damp cloth and gently wiped the girl down before wrapping her up in a swaddling cloth. “What do you intend to name her?” he asked out loud.

 

“Oh… um… her mother was… ummhmm.. And the sire…” The doctor flipped through a sheaf of papers talking to himself before taking a pen and making a few more notes. “The infant is designated Battleborn Phase two Gen one Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon.”

 

Strife blinked. “What?”

 

“The infant is a Battleborn Phase Two Gen one product. It was determined that a new designation be used. So Chi for the twenty second live birth of this group, alpha for female (good chance to be a breeder), mother was the twenty second child produced by the demon bloodline and the father was the twentieth produced by the angel. So Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon.” The doctor explained as if it was a logical conclusion as to what the child would be designated. “Speaking of.. Did either parent survive? I want to get more breeding done between the pair… the product is quite exceptional…..”

 

Mikeal, who’d been hovering close to the tent entrance, quickly stepped in before the Horseman had a chance to do the doctor any harm. “Thank you,” he said as he plucked the bag containing some necessary supplies from one of the assistants. He made sure Strife had the child in hand before hustling him out of the tent. “Denea?” he called jerking his head in the direction of the open tent.

 

“Go, I’ll take care of em. Just don’t do anything too stupid.”

 

“Your quarters are totaled for now so we’ll head to mine,” Mikeal muttered as he lead the gunner to another part of the base. Once they were in his quarters, he knew what needed to be done. “Name the child, Strife,” he said as he pulled a small table into the middle of the room and started tracing runes and symbols into the air above it. “She needs to be Named if she’s to be protected. She’s not blood kin to either of us, but even I can tell she is gonna be something uniquely powerful when she gets older.”

 

Strife looked down at the face of the now quiet girl in the crook of his arm and swallowed. He remembered seeing the Naming Ritual performed by his brother but was never asked to do it himself. “But I’m not…” 

 

“I’m not a Firstborn either, so it doesn’t matter. Now Name her before someone else has a chance.” He started a soft sing-song chant in ancient Angelic, giving power to the runes and symbols he had crafted.

 

Nodding once, Strife lay the infant down on the table carefully then unwrapped her. He brought up a hand and started tracing a second set of runes and symbols in the air above the infant. “Vengeance. Your Name will be Vengeance.” He paused for a moment then traced a third set of runes across her body. “Until times comes when Vengeance is called forth to Duty, I will call you Xaxu. As will your family, your friends and anyone you call ally.” He uttered the final word/syllable/sound in ancient Nephilim, completing the Naming ritual.

 

Mikeal ended his own chant with a Word of Power, completing his part of the Naming. 

 

All the runes and symbols glowed brightly for a heartbeat then vanished. Only evidence that they ever were, was the faintest glimmer like a dusting of fairy wings across the child’s skin.

  
  


Deep within the Black Throne, Azreal the Angel of Death lifted his head a moment then returned to his contemplation of events leading up to the here and now. In the Kingdom of the Dead, the Lord of Bones stirred in his sleep, the corner of his mouth curled up in annoyance before all was still once more. And the Crow Father smiled secretly as he looked down into the Well of Souls, tracking one particular soul out of the millions that drifted within it, as he brushed solid seeming fingers across the breast feathers of a crow.

  
  
  



	11. Heathens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strife & Co move to a new base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life... that's the only excuse I can give you for the time span between posting the last chapter and this one.

“Heathens”   
EW 25-27+ (cont)

(Born in the late spring/early summer of year EW25)

  
  


In the first two months of the child’s life, Strife was her only full time caregiver. Mikeal and Denea would assist when needed but it was Strife that she responded to the best. Development wise, she was a little advanced when compared to fully human infants of the same age. Around the third month, Strife had little choice but to give her up to the full time care of the nurses and staff members of the Battleborn program. Attacks by demons and feral humans had increased to the point of almost daily clashes. The population around the base had dwindled with the attacks as well, forcing the base personnel to rely more and more heavily on stockpiled resources. Communications were cut off completely by normal human means, forcing the humans to rely on magical means supplied by the company of Fallen mercenaries. The mercenary company wasn’t the Twilight Brigade but they were reliable enough by Mikeal’s standards.

 

Before the end of the third month, the base was abandoned. A portal had been setup between the old base and the new location in the days prior. Everything that could be useful was stripped, sorted into three categories then stacked near the designated portal area. The staffers for the Battleborn program along with the breeders and infants were given priority for the evacuation to the new location. Children and pregnant women were the second group to go through the portal; the reasoning was that they were the future of humanity and must be protected. What was a surprising twist was that the native born personnel chose to stay, even when ordered to leave. It was their home after all and they would defend it to the very last. 

 

Amongst the first things Strife noticed when he emerged from the portal into the organized chaos of the new location was it was still daylight, the weather was both colder and wetter, and the language was spoken differently. ‘Why can’t humans have just one common language like the rest of creation?’ he thought to himself as he started searching for Xaxu and her caregivers. Mikeal found him first.

 

“Strife! Over here,” the Fallen called, waving for him from across the courtyard of the arrival area.

 

“Where’s Xaxu? Have you seen her since arriving?” Strife asked once he was within range of his friend and several other Fallen.

 

“Denea has her at the moment. Let me introduce you to the leaders of the mercenary group that’s allied with the local humans. This is Nightmare, Deep Blue and Raina,” Mikeal said as he gestured to each.

 

“Greetings,” Strife said with a polite nod.

 

“Horseman,” the female, Raina, said with a nod in return. “So.. your brother started all of this, did he not?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “As much as I love a good battle with demons and our oh so sanctimonious brethren from the White City and its outposts, having the Realm closed to travel is a bit… irksome. I do hope he is being punished accordingly.”

 

Strife crossed his arms and sighed. “Can I claim he’s adopted?” he asked with sarcasm. “From what I last saw of him, yes he is. Though he still professed his innocence in regards to having started the End War. He claimed he was Called.”

 

“And were you Called as well? That is why you are here, is it not?” asked the one called Deep Blue.

 

“No. I heard no Call. I’m here by order of the Council,” Strife replied. “The Humans are treading dangerously close to imperaling the Balance with one of their endeavors,” he elaborated. No need to make enemies needlessly.

 

All three of the Fallen stiffen at his words. When the Horsemen were on business for the Council, either one did as requested or else.

 

“I ask that, when the time comes, that you give us some warning. Our people are loyal to us and in return we do try to keep them alive,” Nightmare, a slightly androgynous looking male, requested.

 

“Of course. Unlike the rest of the Four, I do try to make and keep allies. Never know when help will be both welcomed and needed,” Strife agreed, then nodded. “If you’ll pardon me? I need to go play nice with the local chain of command. Do you know where we’re going to be quartered Mikeal?”

 

“Not yet, go deal with the humans. I’ll find you later.”

  
  
  


At around five months of age, Xaxu was still ahead of humans of the same age, but on par with the other phase two angelic and demonic infants with whom she’d been grouped with. So far she was the only living ‘mixed’ (or elite as she was being called by some) phase two infant. But that would soon change.

 

Rumors started spreading like wildfire in the coming months that the special group of selected breeders were starting to show evidence of pregnancy. Weeks later it was officially announced that indeed, the breeders were pregnant and the next group of phase two ‘elites’ would be born by the early part of the following year. Xaxu had just turned eight months old, and the end of the year was only another one and a half months away.

 

In the time between arriving at the base and announcement, Strife had indeed ‘played nice’. He put up with most but not all of the requests.  Patrolling the land around the base, combating demons and other attackers, scouting and such were agreed upon readily. He even found a group of human marksmen that welcomed him with open arms and loved to challenge him in his field of expertise. The doctors and scientists, especially those from the Battleborn program fell on the opposite end of the scale. It took the death of one particularly over determined scientist and his two assistants to get it through everyone’s head that no, he was not passing on any of his genetic material in any form or fashion. The base commander and the head of the Battleborn program were not too happy about the deaths but they were even less pleased to learn that the scientist had been performing unscrupulous experiments on all of the children prior to his death.

 

As had happened at the previous base, Strife established certain patterns that brought him into contact with all the phase two children. And as had happened before, they responded to him remarkably well. It was with his subtle assistance that the handlers learned how to deal with the more problematic non-human nature of the children.

 

The angelics tended to sort themselves naturally into subgroupings with one child becoming the leader of that subgroup. All the others within that subgroup would look to the leader for approval or even permission at times. The handlers would resort the children and reinforce that they were the ones in charge. It was a constant challenge to have human nature override the angelic instincts. But the one upside to said angelic nature was the constant striving for neatness and organization, sometimes to the point of obsessiveness.

 

The demonics on the other hand were always trying to prove that they were the ones in charge. Someone was always trying to outdo someone else. They also tended to either try to bully the angelics or refuse to do anything with them. Handlers learned not to tolerate any behavior they did not approve of, because as soon as they let one do it, most of the demonics would start doing the same thing as well.

 

There were always exceptions to the rule though. There were a few angelics and demonics with the opposite demeanor.

 

For these types of behavior to be seen at such an early stage of development in children were just mind-boggling to most humans, especially civilians not associated with the program in any way. For those members of the program who worked with the children from the time they were born to the time they were turned over to be trained or breed, they were discovering that it was quite normal.

 

While the staffers, civilians and base personnel were dealing with the children and everything else related to the program, Strife was trying to come up with a plan that would reap the next group of nephilim souls. This time around he needed to do something that would not result in the explosions like the last base. The presence within the amulet was also starting to grow more repulsive (if that was possible) the nearer the expected due dates became and what little rest he did require was constantly being interrupted. He also noticed that he was experiencing phantom sensations of taste when souls were released in his vicinity. He already had a reputation for being hedonistic as well as one for being a Horseman, he didn’t need something like that added to the list. But it did give him inspiration on how to reap the souls.

 

The Horseman searched for someone amongst the humans who knew more about where books of knowledge were stored and was willing to trade. In exchange for books brought back from his foraging trips (a bonus that was sanctioned by the people in charge), the human would teach him how to read the local languages. As Denea had once commented, he was a lot smarter than he let on so learning human languages was fairly easy, if slightly time consuming.

  
  


The first deaths occured around the turning of the year. It was easy to slip in the poisonous plants into the food being served to some of the pregnant females. When the amulet claimed the nephilim souls, Strife thought he’d bitten into something bitter and rotten. It took him days to clear the taste from his mouth. The Fallen mercenaries put two and two together almost instantly and wisely kept their mouths shut when questioned. Luckily more than just the special breeders had ingested the poisonous plants so no alarm had been raised past the initial one.

 

The second set of deaths were the result of one of the breeders going berserk and attacking everyone she could reach. By the time she was put down (there was no other option), she had killed five others and injured a dozen more. That set of deaths took Strife by surprise at first until he learned which breeder it was. She had been carrying a particularly insane nephilim soul who had actually been put down by the Firstborns after he slaughtered nearly an entire generation of their own younglings. It was a much talked about event due to how promising that group had been. It was also talked about due to one rather infamous Firstborn chose to claim kinship to one of the survivors.

 

The third group of deaths were also not of Strife’s doings, not directly at least. A pair of breeders somehow got their hands on several bottles of caustic chemicals that used by the research staff. After poisoning the rest of the pregnant breeders in their group, they went after the children. It was by chance that Strife was with the children, enjoying some free time with Xaxu, when the pair gained entrance to the play area. Before they could open fire with the assault rifles they’d acquired, the Horseman shot both. The pair of breeders, when questioned before they died of injuries sustained, claimed to have had constant voices in their head for the last couple of months. Both had been carrying twins. As for Strife, he was both praised for his quick action in defending the children, and criticized for causing the death of ‘two valuable breeding resources’. If the humans only knew.

  
  


Xaxu was almost two years old when the announcement came that another attempt to breed what was coming to be known as the ‘cursed ones’ had had positive results. Unlike the previous two groups, this groups were being kept at a secure facility located elsewhere. Strife knew his time was up on Earth and after reaping the souls he would be reporting to the Council. He wouldn’t bother trying to be stealthy this time. He didn’t bother packing any of the stuff he’d collected over the time he’d spent on Earth either. He only took the high-powered assault rifle he’d come to favor for its range in addition to his normal pistol, Mercy. The Horseman didn’t even bother saying goodbye to the friends he’d made, just up and left.

 

It took the Horseman a few days to locate one of the myriad shops the demon merchant Vulgrim had set up on Earth. “Merchant,” he greeted.

 

“Horseman,” Vulgrim returned with a gleeful, hungry gleam in his eyes as he started rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “What can this most humble merchant do for you?” He floated from one side of the tiny seeming shop to the other. “Weapons? I have some nice ranged ones,” he said after spotting the human made weapon slung across the Horseman’s back. “Or perhaps you’ve grown tired of the paltry excuse for pleasures of the flesh that the humans do seem to enjoy?” a wave of a hand had several images appear then fade away. 

 

“Travel,” Strife replied as he ignored all that was offered to him. “To this location or as close as possible,” he said, holding up a map with the location marked on it.

 

The demon glanced at the map then up to the Horseman. “What makes you think I can-”

 

Strife held up his other hand, the glow of thousands of souls swirled about it. Just over two years worth of souls; collected from every kill he ever made, every death he’d been close to. With the exception of the souls within the amulet that is.

 

The demon’s eyes lite up. “Of course.. Of course…. anything for you..” Vulgrim oozed with greedy anticipation. “Anything at all…..”

 

Strife stared silently at the demon until Vulgrim moved off to the side, clearing the way. He released the souls to the merchant as he strode forward vanishing into the serpent hole. 

  
  


When Strife arrived at the serpent hole’s exit point, he was still a day’s travel. If he was using human means of transportation that is. On Grief, he was a few hours away. Upon arrival at the secure facility he took time to scout the place. Not only were there humans guarding the place, it looked as if half-breeds were also being used as guards. Looking up to the skies above, he determined there were no obvious angelic beings, Fallen or not, watching over the place. The Horseman circled the facility several times before making his decision on when and where he would start. 

  
  


The sudden attack was like a nightmare come to life. Beams of pure white light that left inanimate material untouched while shredding flesh and rending spirit as it spread out from the initial impact point. Hellfire rained down leaving craters of intense, stone melting heat and acidic smoke that choked the life from anyone that breathed it in. The heavy bombardment lasted for almost two minutes before it stopped as suddenly as it began. Silence followed for another minute before the screams of the injured and dying made themselves known over the wailing of alarms, crackling of fires and the groans of stone and cement. The communications had been taken out first so no calls for help could be gotten out. Those that survived the initial onslaught watched as a mysterious figure stalked through the smoke and dust, killing anyone found. The ones outside thought they could escape, but found themselves being hunted like prey. No amount of begging for mercy or offering of bribes extended their lives.

 

With every soul released, the taste in Strife’s mouth had slowly morphed. Bitterness had turned to sweet ambrosia and rot to the most succulent of flavors. The older, more stained the soul, the more exquisit of tastes he experienced. By the time it was over, the being within the amulet was moaning with stomach churning obscene pleasure.

 

After Strife killed the last living person, he went back through the ruins torching papers, shredding machines and destroying anything that might hold any information at all. After that, he used what was left of his power  to open a portal into the hidden realm where his arsenal of weapons were stored. With the aid of an old Redemption Cannon and the Gorehammer he had acquired when he first arrived, he took the facility down past its foundations.

 

Leaving the weapons behind, the Horseman stepped through the void between realms to return to the Charred Council, like an obedient cur to its masters side now that his mission was over. He was damned either way, so the few souls that had been overlooked, was of little consequence. He’d face his punishment head on, with a vengeful curse on his lips and the knowledge in his heart that he’d done right by not taking Xaxu’s soul the moment she’d been handed to him.

  
  


A week after Strife vanished from the base, the secure facility went dark. Another week went by before the program’s higher-ups badgered what was left of the human governments to send scouts to try and make contact. When the reports made it back, they described a base that hadn’t merely been destroyed, but one that had been obliterated. All the research was gone, everyone dead and the buildings themselves shattered down past their foundations. Not even demons roamed the area. It was from that point on that the people in charge of the Battleborn program would go with single breedings instead of batches and no word would be given until after, if then.

 


	12. Various Artists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of 'snap shots' in the life of Xaxu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up. When I post chapter 13 -which is finished and just awaiting some quick looking over- it will be pretty much 100% spoilers for Darksiders 3. So if you've not already played the game or seen all the vids that's been posted and don't want it to be spoiled... ignore chapter 13 when I post it. Otherwise.. on with the story.

 

* * *

 

 

EW 27+ (Cont) “Who Needs Sleep”  
(age Just under 2)

 

At first, Xaxu seemed to be fine after Strife had vanished. She didn’t seem particularly upset or anything like that. Afterall, Strife being gone a few days at a time was something of the norm. Usually it was on sanctioned hunts, scouting or scavenging for useful items. When she wasn’t penned up with the rest of the children, she was often found with Mikeal, Denea, one of the Fallen or any of the Marksmen.

 

When day six rolled around and Strife had still not returned, Xaxu along with most of the littles who had anything to do with the Horseman, started to become fussy and difficult to settle down. On the seventh day, she latched onto Mikeal and refused to let go. Every time he tried to put her down or hand her off, she would start whining, fussing and finally screaming until he took her again. As soon as he did, she settled down again. Later that night, after finally falling into an exhausted sleep only a few hours earlier, she woke screaming once more. This time she kept calling for Strife over and over.

 

Not even Mikeal could calm her down, but he was able to figure out from her jumbled half-formed words what part of the problem was. Strife had returned to the Charred Council. He silently cursed the idiot for leaving without saying goodbye to the child at least. A little past dawn the child’s crying tapered off, but she didn’t sleep, not yet. He took a chance and put her in bed. When she neither started fussing or tried to get up again, he counted it as a victory and took his own rest. When he woke up some hours later, she was gone.

 

The sound of multiple gunshots from only a room over had the Fallen on his feet and rushing out his door. He wasn’t the only one rushing to find out what was going on. What he (and several others) found left him with his mouth hanging open in shocked surprise.

 

In the middle of Strife’s room Xaxu sat tangled up in the material of the gunner’s scarf, looking as if she had been knocked ass over teakettle. Mercy lay smoking on the floor next to her. Across the room, splattered against the wall and puddling on the floor below it, was the ectoplasmic remains of one of the Charred Council slave race, the Watchers.

 

At the young age of one year eleven months and five days, Battleborn Phase Two Gen One Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon, aka Xaxu, made her first kill.

 

Two things Mikeal wanted to know the most: how in Hell’s Name did she manage to escape his room without waking him when his door was secure, and by the Light and all that was Holy, where did she find Strife’s two most valuable possessions? He had never seen the Horseman leave the base without those two items. Never.

  


* * *

 

 

EW 30-31 “The Call”  
(age 5-6)

 

Contact between the governments slowly eroded as old forms of communications broke down due to age, lack of maintenance or were purposely destroyed by humans or roving demons. New forms had to be found or ancient means had to be revived.

 

Contact with North America had been lost years previously while most of Europe was still in communications with their immediate neighbors. Asia regions were hit and miss depending on the time of year or even time of day. Contact with India was lost the year before and no one had heard from Africa or the Middle East since close to the start of the End War, too much civil unrest even before it started. Australia had gone dark about five years after the start. Considering it was a land where everything was out to kill you, speculation was that even the demons had a problem with local flora and fauna.

 

Xaxu was nearly five when the humans of the UK had finally re established contact with one group of humans still living in North America’s southeastern region. From there they were able to make contact with two other groups, one to the north in what was once Canada and another on the upper west coast.

 

As much information as possible was exchanged between the North American and UK groups as well as what information from the European groups were passed on. Breeding records and other Battleborn program information was also exchanged. Turns out, Xaxu was still one of a kind. Plenty of phase two Angelic and Demonic Battleborn but no hybrids like her had survived the first few weeks of life as of yet. None of the humans had figured it out and the few times Xaxu had tried to explain they had dismissed her words as ‘ramblings of a child’. Even with the irrefutable proof in front of their faces, scientists didn’t put much credit in the idea that ‘souls too old and powerful or too evil and corrupted for the body to handle’ were the cause of the deaths.

 

After nearly a year of negotiations, portals were set up and select breeders were exchanged. All in the name of diversification of the breeding stocks. Xaxu would be going to the Canadian group too in hope that with her gone, they might have a surviving hybrid. Denea, who was her official handler would be going as well as Mikeal who would act as a guard and trainer.

 

* * *

 

EW 33+ “On the Road Again”

(age 8+)

 

After arriving in Canada, Mikeal was reunited with a few members of his old mercenary company, the Twilight Brigade. Turns out that they had left the India settlement a few months after he had headed east with the military group.

 

The company had claimed an abandoned town somewhere near the area once known as the Badlands. The town was far enough away from any place claimed by either side that it wasn’t worth going after, at least not yet. Currently the Twilight Brigade had a contract with the Canadian settlement to supply trainers for the local Battleborn. It gave those who were on the inactive duty roster something to do until they were cleared for active duty once more. To keep the Battleborn from becoming too bored or complacent with their training, those teaching them would be rotated out and new ones brought in every few months. There were enough members of the Twilight Brigade that the trainers could be cycled through for half a century before anyone repeated the experience.

 

It didn’t take long before the trio settled in and found their place within the hierarchy of the new settlement. Xaxu, in addition to the regular training,  was expected to attend the academic classes as well as classes on tactics, leadership and how to ride. Denea became the handler for several more Battleborn in addition to Xaxu. And Mikeal took up a position within the guard and trainers.

 

Life moved on.

 

* * *

  


EW 38+ “Welcome to the Pleasure Dome”  
(age 13+)

 

“I will breed when I choose and with whom I choose,” Xaxu stated calmly as she wiped the blood off her knife. “If you try and force me to breed, I will remove vital body parts, first from the male you bring in, then from the handlers and finally your own. Do you understand?” she asked as she finally sheathed the blade.

 

The doctor currently in charge of the breeding program nodded rapidly as sweat rolled down his face. “Yes.. yes! I.. I understand… I’ll pass the.. The information on and have it noted in your file.” His eyes darted to the male that had been brought in, checking to be sure he was still intact and breathing. After all he was a valuable breeding resource. “You didn’t….”

 

The hybrid snorted as she crossed her arms. “No, he’s still intact. But you may want to have someone take care of that nasty inner thigh wound else he bleeds out on you,” she added as she turned to exit the room. Once in the hallway she spotted a familiar figure leaning against the wall. “Hey D.”

 

“Who was it this time?” Denea asked as she pushed away from the wall with a groan. “And I’m getting too damned old to keep bailing you out of trouble like this. Come on,” the human said waving a hand.

 

Xaxu shrugged as she followed the woman who was friend and official handler. “That new idiot that came in last month with all those empty headed pedigreed males. Most of em seem to think every female that crosses their path is just eagerly panting to boink em and loves getting up the duff. Kinda like the bitches down in the kennels.” She shrugged. “Not a one is worth a damn on the fields either. Shit shots and too afraid they’ll break a nail in melee.”

 

Denea couldn’t help but chuckle at her charge. The Battleborn was just over thirteen years old and already had a higher kill count than some of the first phase Battleborn's had. But her attitude at times kept her in near constant hot water with the program directors. “You need to stop bucking the system kiddo. I won’t always be able to get you out of trouble or be your handler.” The older woman stopped in front of a set of lockers at the main security post. “Alright, you know the drill. Hand em over then report to the nursery.”

 

The girl sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know… it’s just.. The idea of popping out sprogs every year now that I’ve got my moons is just.. Ew… have you seen some of those older breeders? They look used up and worn out.” She uncrossed her arms and slowly started unwinding the scarf from about her shoulders. She’d been ‘punished’ enough times already that she was something of a regular. Once the long strip of material was folded she put it in an empty locker along with Mercy. Strife’s gun still looked huge in her hands. “Don’t know why they bother with making me put Mercy in lockup. She just comes right back to me,” she grumbled, “and it’s not like anyone else around here can use her either.”

 

Denea just shook her head with a sigh. “Stop stalling and get going. And try to be nice to the staff?”

 

Xaxu just rolled her eyes. “No promises,” she said as she shouldered her way through the nursery door.

 

* * *

 

EW  45+ “Danger Zone”  
(Age 20+)

  


“Battleborn Reaver Chi Alpha Chi Upsilon report to command.”

 

Xaxu glanced up to the ceiling then back down to the pair of infants on the mat in front of her. She righted the female with black down covered wings then automatically righted the second one, a male with moon pale leathery wings. She wasn’t in any hurry to answer the summons, having just finished her patrol rotation a few hours earlier.

 

“Go, before they send someone after you.”

 

Xaxu looked up again, this time to the person that had spoken. “Any clue as to why command would be summoning me so soon?”

 

Mikeal shrugged, wings raising and falling as he did. “Nope, but I’m willing to bet it has something to do with that storm that blew through a few days ago. Too much Energy to be normal.”

 

The Battleborn nodded then got to her feet. “Indeed. Better gear up then I guess.”

 

“Wouldn’t hurt,” the fallen replied as he settled himself on the floor, dark colored feathers making a very tempting distraction for the infants. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of these two while you’re gone.” Mikeal glanced up at the young woman. “I still know how to handle littles like theses you know,” he then laughed and added “I helped raise you after all.”

 

“That’s what worries me old bird,” Xaxu shot back as she turned away to gear back up again. Twenty minutes later she was striding into the base’s war room. A quick look around was all it took to find her handler standing with the commander, both of whom were standing next to the map table. “Sir,” she said respectfully to the commander, ignoring her handler for the moment.

 

The commander looked up at the battleborn for a moment then back down at the table. “Reaver,” the commander replied as he picked up a pointer and pushed a cylindrical object across the table with a look of distaste.

 

“Sir?” Xaxu asked, reaching out but not taking the object as she did. She didn’t need to be told that the object was not of earth origins, she could feel it.

 

“That arrived during that storm we just had. Right in the middle of all that mess with the sudden attack,” the commander said. “We were finally able to translate it this morning. Took a little longer to decypher who it was meant for,” he added as he slid a piece of paper across the table.

 

Xaxu moved her hand away from the object and picked up the paper instead. She took a moment to read the translation then stood a little straighter. “Permission to gather extra supplies?” she asked.

 

The commander considered the request for a few moments before making a decision. “Granted.”

 

“Thank you sir,” the Battleborn replied as she fished some thin cord from one of her many pockets. “I’ll report back when I can sir,” she added as she used another pointer to roll the object around so the cord was looped around it securely so as to not physically touch it. People avoided getting too close to the Battleborn as she made her way through the compound towards the stables. When she arrived, a mount was already geared up and waiting on her.

 

The beast was descended from one of the native caribou that had been altered sometime shortly after the start of the End War by some crazy mage hell bent on playing Creator. It was an older animal near the end of its usefulness as a combat mount and it showed; scars on its hide, missing points on its antlers, and eyes going filmy. The gear wasn’t in much better shape either, so should something happen to it (killed, stolen, lost or left behind, etc), the loss would be considered acceptable. Had it not been chosen for this mission, it would probably have ended up as part of the base food chain.

 

“Hey D, whatcha doing down here?” Xaxu asked as she dropped the cylinder on the ground in an out of the way spot so she could check the mount over.

 

“Heard from an old bird you’d been called up for a special mission,” the older woman answered.

 

“I know gossip travels fast around here but I only just got the assignment,” Xaxu said as she checked over her mount’s gear then made some adjustments. “I didn’t get a chance to stop by my quarters and inform Mikeal about it and I doubt my current handler will bother letting him know.”

 

Denea just snorted. “Cause he’s a feather brained idiot with no tactical sense,” she paused a moment then added “or common sense for that matter.”

 

The Battleborn just laughed in agreement as she finished then turned to the older woman. “Let Mikeal know I’ll be gone for at least a couple of days,” she said as she wrapped her arms around the older woman and hugged. “Tell’em not to get worried until after the third day.”

 

“I will,” Denea replied as she returned the hug. “Good hunting.”

 

Xaxu nodded as she stepped back, saluting her former handler then retrieved the cylinder and mounted up. She spurred her mount forward towards the gates and what lay beyond without a look back.

 


	13. Back in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS & Mention of suicide! If you haven't played Darksiders 3 and/or haven't watched any of the numerous videos that's been posted since its realease and don't want to have anything spoiled.. Do Not Read This Chapter! This entire Chapter covers the events of the game. I doubt I'm the first and I doubt I'll be the last, but just about all of the dialog is taken straight from the game with only minor changes. Though I did try my best to ensure the action matched the dialog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I discovered a minor oopsie in the timeline. I hope that I've gotten that corrected in a logical, easy to accept means.
> 
> A guest reviewer (from the other site I post this to) asked if I was going to make this into a Strife x OC romance. The answer is No. The relationship between the OC and Strife (and the other Horsemen eventually) will develop (I hope) into that of a snarky Parent / Adult Child. As for Strife's relationship with the OCs Mikeal & Denea, they will remain on the platonic level as well cause frankly I just can't see them as anything else.

 

 

* * *

  
  


Agony. From the very tips of his hair down past the very end of his toes, everything in between and then some places he didn’t even know he had. There was no escaping the agony. Even unconscious, he could not escape it. So when it stopped, his entire being refused to accept it was gone for some amount of time. Soon enough though, the phantom pain tapered off before vanishing entirely, leaving behind a void that needed to be filled once more.

 

And filled it was.

 

Muscles throbbed and joints ached. Hunger came next followed by the overwhelming need to slake his thirst. When he dared to open his eyes, if felt like jagged daggers were piercing into his brain. The only positive throughout his ordeal was the low, soothing rumble that came and went with a constant frequency.

 

The soothing rumble turned out to be voices speaking.

 

“How is the wee lad?” asked the deeper voice.

 

“Dirty, bruised and battered but alive still,” spoke a second much lighter voice followed by crystalline tinkling.

 

A cool dampness pressed against his lips. Caution warred with desire until instinct reared its head. He parted his lips then shut them on the intrusion. Water. He was tasting sweet, cool, pure water.

 

“Easy lad, easy..” the lighter voice murmured. “There's plenty for ye ta have.”

 

A barking rumble of satisfied amusement. “Good. He seems like one to do something just to be contrary, like live when he should be dead.”

 

“You have no idea….” A voice that was too wispy and light to be truly human whispered, unheard by all but one, from the darkness.

 

He drank (let's be honest, he suckled like a babe at its mother’s breast), till his thirst was slaked, which also took the edge off the worst of his hunger pains. It was only then that he realized he had tasted more than just pure water. Some sort of potion, albertly very watered (Ha!) down, but still strong enough to soothe away the pain in very little time.

 

A small echoing thud followed after a moment of silence. “Well now, guess he was a might tired after all that work… “ spoke the deep voice with another rumbling bark. “How are the others doing?” softer thumps as the voices fade away.

 

Sleep beckoned and he did not resist.

 

~~

 

When he woke again, the pain was greatly diminished but not completely gone. His head still throbbed in time with his heartbeat and all his joints ached. His skin felt too tight, too thin and overly sensitive to the elements around him. In other words, he felt less than himself. As he raised his hands to rub his temples, he discovered the reason for his discomfort. For in truth, he was no longer his Nephilim self. He had been locked into, what he presumed to be, a human form. Running a hand over the top of his, he winced as his fingers made contact with a large lump. And no hair. Once he managed to keep his eyes open, he also discovered he was darker skinned than most angels he’d seen.

 

“You’re awake again lad. Good.”

 

Strife jerked upright, automatically reaching for his weapons. He wasn’t sure who was more surprised. The being standing in the doorway of the room, or himself when they materialized in his hands out of thin air. The moment in time was broken though when the weight of the guns suddenly started increasing until he couldn’t even hold them up any longer. “..The hells?!” he croaked out in wide eyed surprise as Mercy and Redemption hit the stone floor with a clatter. Moments later he was also on the ground scrambling for his guns.

 

The being crossed space in just a few steps, swept the guns further out of reach and penned the human to the ground with just their hand on their back. “Easy lad… easy… we’re not gonna harm ya, what with so few of you left. And in turn we’d be much appreciative if ya didn’t try to harm us either,” the being explained gently, as if to a frightened young animal.

 

Strife struggled for only a few moments more. “Off… get off me,” he growled.

 

“You’ll give me your word you won’t try to do me or mine any harm?”

 

“Yes.” The floor was neither comfortable nor warm.

 

“Thank ye kindly… I am called Ulthane Blackhammer. I am a Maker. Who be you, human?” Ulthane asked as he let the human go and stood up again, eyes cutting towards the two pistols lying close to the wall where he had swept them. He’d eat his hammer if those were of human make. For even at the distance he could tell they were very old, powerful Weapons, but of whose crafting he couldn’t say. Definitely not Maker, nor of Angel or Demon design. But that was a mystery for another time.

 

Strife flipped over onto his back and looked up (and up and up) at the Maker. “Jones...My name... is Jones.” It came out even before he could formulate a plan, as if planted there. The last person he knew of that went by the name of Jones was a young human male that loved to challenge him in contests of skills back in the base in what was once called Great Britain. That young man had been killed a few weeks prior to his leaving to finish off his mission.

 

“Yes.. well Jones… lad… feel free to join the rest of us,” Ulthane said as he turned away and headed towards the door. “After ye’ve dressed that is,” he added with a deep chuckle. “Your stuff is in a basket at the end of the cot and there’s a bathing chamber on the other side of those vines. Feel free to use it… Please. Oh.. and welcome to Haven!”

 

Strife lifted his head long enough to look down his prone body. He was covered… sort of.. If one counted the patches of dirt, ash and grime that is. Not to mention quite a few bruises and scrapes. With a groan, he levied himself off the floor and went in search of the bathing chambers Ulthane spoke of.

 

~~

 

Strife settled into Haven and his role as Jones fairly well. He watched as the Makers built fortifications and structures, influenced the rapid growth of their tree and found more human survivors. Over time, the number of humans grew and shrank and grew again. He helped where and when he could. By taking out any and all roaming hostiles. By helping gather food and resources. But his most important work was in keeping the humans going, even in the worst of times in Haven.

 

It was a blow to all when one human’s spirit broke completely and he took his own life.

 

The one that took his own life was a middle-aged man who had been the original first human in Haven. He had been just a young boy, barely into his teens, when the End War started. The man had been found and taken in by another group of survivors who had banded together. At first, it seemed like there had been a good chance of escaping the city and finding others, but then one by one they had been killed. He found another group, but they too had fallen to demon and angel alike. When he found a third group, he had started to think himself cursed. Especially when this group, like the last two, were also hunted down and killed. This time though they were betrayed in the worst possible way. By one of their own. How he had escaped certain death he couldn’t say but he did. He had been surviving on his own for a while when he was found by the Makers soon after they had arrived on Earth. It took time before he trusted them enough to accept that they indeed were there to help the humans, not enslave or kill them off. But as more and more humans arrived, his paranoia and fear of betrayal just got worse till he could take it no more. He just up and left one day, leaving everything.

 

Strife had been keeping an eye on the fellow, so when the man left he followed at a distance. Just to be sure the man didn’t try to make a deal with the demons or other hostiles and lead anyone back to Haven. He knew the man wasn’t the most emotionally stable human of the bunch, so he wasn’t surprised when he spotted the man at the top of one of the taller buildings. He was surprised however, when he didn’t find the man’s body at the base of the building after seeing the man fling himself over the edge. Floor by floor, he cleared out (or avoided) hostiles till he located the man’s body. The man had been unlucky enough to hit a few obstacles on the way down so instead of a (somewhat) fast (and very messy) death, he ended up in a broken heap on one of the side ledges.

 

“You know, you picked a lousy view and even worse way to go,” Strife said as he crouched down next to the man. “I would have ended it for you, fast and painless if you had just asked. Might not have liked it, but you wouldn’t have been the first life I ended because you couldn’t take it anymore.”

 

The man moaned in agony, hopelessness and fear could easily be seen in his agony clouded eyes. 

 

“Shh…,” Strife murmured. “I get it… you don’t have to try and explain it to me.” He pulled the pack off his back and settled down to wait, unmindful of the seeping blood and other things that started to appear from under the man. “Ya know… none of this would have happened if my idiot brother had been a little more patient,” he commented as he pulled Redemption from the pack along with a few other items. “Don’t worry, I won’t take you back to Haven and I won’t let you suffer for much longer either. I’ll also make sure you don’t rise again as a minion or whatever you humans come back as.”

 

And that was just what Strife did. He mercifully ended the man’s suffering with a single shot from Redemption then proceeded to ensure the man would not and could not, be brought back in any such manner. He only stayed long enough to ensure the pyre had fully consumed the man’s body before he made his way back to Haven. And of course, luck would have it, he ran into a little trouble along the way back. Nothing big, but still nearly more than his current body could handle. When he limped back into Haven a little after sunrise the next day, he was greeted by Ulthane.

 

“The other wee one?” Ulthane asked, eyeing the human up and down for any signs of deeper injuries.

 

“He won’t be coming back,” Strife replied. “In any form.”

 

The Maker frowned then shook his head with a sigh. “Well… I guess that's... a blessing of sorts. Come, we’ve work ta do.”

 

Strife looked up at the Maker from where he had sat (collapsed) on the entrance steps. “Work? What’s there to do that a ‘wee one’ like me could possible do?”

 

Ulthane laughed. “Yer not a human, lad. Don’t know what you are…. but yer not a wee human.  So if’n yer gonna go out and get into trouble, we’d better make sure you’ve the means to protect against that trouble.” The Maker turned to head up the stairs “Don’t worry, I won’t be telling the others, lad,” he added.

 

The Horseman turned human just grunted as he forced himself to his feet and limped after the Maker.

 

By the end of the day, all the necessary materials had been gathered and were awaiting their time in the forge. That evening both Strife and Ulthane collaborated on the armor design; what was wanted, what could be made, and what he could actually use. Those talks turned to weapons. First what the humans were capable of using then what they would be willing or able to use. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, just before dawn, Ulthane managed to talk Strife into letting him look at Mercy and Redemption. When Strife woke up sometime in the late afternoon of the next day with one mother of a hangover, he would put the blame squarely on the Maker’s brew he had been drinking. The trio of Makers thought it was pretty funny considering how watered down Strife’s drink had been when compared to theirs.

 

“Why am I doing this?” Strife asked as he worked a set of bellows Ulthane had built sometime while he was asleep.

 

“A little work’ll do ye good,” Ulthane said with a laugh as he pounded the metal on the anvil before sticking it back in the fire to reheat it. “Besides, it’s gonna be yer armor, so it's best if ye had a hand in its crafting.”

 

Strife just grunted in reply as he continued to pump the bellows for the Maker.

 

As months passed a few more humans had been found and brought to Haven. In that time, Strife became something of a de facto leader for motley band of skittish survivors. He found himself doing things he never thought he would be willing or even capable of doing. Such as being a silent guard against one human’s night terrors, waking the young one before the nightmares got too bad. At other times, he found himself humming bits and pieces of tunes he’d heard as he turned soil or gathered plants with some of the group. He found a sort of beauty in the stillness of the pre-dawn, as creatures of the night settled for their rest and creatures of the day slowly woke.

 

It was on one such morning, more than a year since arriving at Haven, that he felt the presence of a Watcher. Picking up the cup of tea, he used the action of taking a sip to scan the area. When he didn’t find the source immediately, he finished the drink off and stood up. “I know you’re there,” he called out as he brought out his guns and slowly turned around.

 

“So observant you are,” simpered the Watcher as it materialized.

 

Strife wrinkled his nose in a disgusted sneer. “What do you want, Watcher?” he demanded. “I ain’t letting the Council take these humans or the Makers without a fight.”

 

The Watcher lifted its hands, making a gesture of platitude. “Oh no… that’s not why I’m here.”

 

“Then why are you here?”

 

Slowly floating closer, ready at an instant to dodge or vanish, the Watcher approached the Horseman turned human. “I just thought you’d like to know.. The Council has summoned your sister, finally, to deal with the Seven.”

 

Lowering his weapons just a fraction, Strife tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean Fury has JUST been summoned by the council? I was told she already dealing with the Seven before I came to Earth at the whole start of this mess.” His confusion turned to anger. “So the Council lied to me..again, like always. Why am I not surprised?” he muttered with a shake of his head. Once more lifting the weapons and training them on the Watcher. “Alright, you’ve delivered your message. Now go.”

 

“Wait!” the Watcher called out, holding up its hands once more. “Wouldn’t you rather I be here, watching with you...for you, rather than say.. elsewhere for the Council or even someone else?” the Watcher asked.

 

The sound of Redemption being cocked was loud in the pre-dawn silence. “I don’t care where you go, but you had best not stick around if you want to keep your life and your freedom.” Strife had not missed the fact that the Watcher had no rune or sigil etched manicals on its scrawny arms. Or even on its flesh.

 

The Watcher fluttered off to one side so that it now hung over open space. “I know when I’m not wanted….. For now..” it said as it vanished in a haze of black smoke.

 

After waiting for more than a minute, Strife lowered his guns then put them away, grumbling obscenities under his breath about ruined mornings and the Hell's breaking loose again.

  
  


Two days later….

 

Three humans had been preparing to go out and forage when the sound of footsteps coming up the ramp like steps sent them scurrying for cover.

 

“Behind me, wee ones! Let me tend to our uninvited guests,” Ulthane said as he hefted his hammer, preparing for a possible fight. He straightened up slightly at the sight of the ‘guest’. “A Horseman?”

 

From the shadows of the stones behind the Maker, Strife waited and watched. He knew it was his sister, even in this human body he could feel the one sided ghost like connection to her.

 

The Horseman sauntered in as if she owned the place, her arrogance broadcast loud and clear for everyone to see. “Fury. Currently reserving the right to kill you where you stand,” she announced, eyeing the Maker with distaste. “And you are….?”

 

In his long life, Ulthane was more then use to dealing with arrogant beings who thought themselves above everyone else, so he ignored her attitude.. For the moment. “Surprised. And more than a little relieved. Call me Ulthane Blackhammer,” he said, thumping a mighty hand against his chest. His hammer though, had not been put aside and was in a position to be used. Just in case.

 

From high above, peering from the shadows another figure watched.

 

“So you’ll not be flattening me today?” Fury in a bored yet taunting voice.

 

Ulthane just grunted in reply.

 

From next to the Horseman, the ebony hued creature spoke up. “A Maker, are you not?” it said as it gestured with its right hand, the chain which dangled from the shackle rattling against the stone tiles below it.

 

“Aye…,” Ulthane said flicking a finger in the pairs direction as he turned away. “When there’s something to make. Today, my skills are only aimed towards instruments of death….” Wide shoulders sagged as he looked away, as if in shame.

 

“This is not your war,” the Watcher cut in.

 

Slowly the Maker turned back to the pair, anger flitting across his features. “No. Not theirs neither.” He waved a hand in the direction of the humans.

 

One of the humans was peering around the stone skittishly. Unsure if ducking or dodging would be the best choice. The second was very slowly moving closer for a better look, but still had plenty of room to run. The third human… well he was striding forward but stopped several feet in front of the other two. Hands fisted as he watched and waited.

 

“Like your Council, I care for balance, Horsman….” The Maker turned to face the female fully once more. “Humans, frail as they be, are part of the balance. Surely you’re here to help protect them?” Ulthane asked, a tiny sliver of hope in his voice.

 

Fury curled her upper lip in a sneer, hands resting on her hips as she let her eyes travel over the pathetic wretches. Not a single one was worthy of her notice.

 

The Watcher let out a gusty sigh. “Wrong question,” it said.

 

Her eyes rolled before she closed them in laughter. “A tribe of useless, hairless simians whose greatest talent was inventing ingenious new ways to divide and destroy one another!”

 

A few more of the humans had become brave enough to come out of hiding but with the Horseman’s scornful laugh, they looked to the Maker then back again before edging away, ready to flee at a moments notice.

 

“They can suffer forever or die tomorrow and I wouldn’t bat an eye either way.”

 

Strife mentally shook his head. Had she always been like this or had something changed over time? He needed to derail his sister or else blood would start flying as her temper got the best of her. And people thought War was the bloodthirsty one of the bunch! “Then what is your business here?!” demanded as he strode forward past the Maker.

 

“What do they call you?” Fury asked with boredom.

 

“Jones,” Strife answered aggressively. ‘Come on.. Focus on me Sis,’ he thought.

 

“Jones…. Question me again.. With your last breath,” Fury answered back, teeth bared in a silent snarl.

 

“Ha!” Strife scoffed. ‘I knew you couldn’t resist a taunt…’ he thought. “Look around… look what’s happened here,” he waved his hands indicating not just Haven, but the world itself. “Do you honestly think anything scares me now?”

 

“Easy, lad. This one’s none for trifles--” Ulthane said, not knowing the pair were in truth, related.

 

“Yeah!”, ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he thought. “What do I have to lose?!” Strife said, still keeping an agressive, angry tone of voice.

 

Fury narrowed her eyes at the human, teeth still bared in a snarl.

 

“This moronic conflict makes you all look so stupid. Angel, Demon, Horseman… even Maker! What are you even fighting for? Huh? Tell me!!” He challenged her with his demand for an answer.

 

The Watcher wisely chose that moment to disappear.

 

Fury slowly blinked, her expression going more neutral as she tilted her head up and to the side before she sauntered over towards the human that dared challenge her.

 

Hands clenching and unclenching, Strife shifted slightly so that his left foot was slightly behind and turned outwards as he prepared for a possible fight. Shoulders rising and falling as he took deep breaths, whether in anger or excitement, he couldn’t say. But either way, he stood his ground against his sister.

 

Fury stopped just over an arm length away from the human. “I like this one. You may continue breathing, Jones.” A small upwards curl of her lip indicating she was pleased and amused.

 

Strife’s shoulders jerked up as his head reared back just a fraction. The briefest expressions of surprise and confusion, with a smidgen of disgust, crossed his face. ‘Seriously sis?! You’re trying to flirt with me. Are you that hard up or something?’ he thought.

 

“Horseman, please,” Ulthane spoke up, breaking the tableau. “To have you on our side would turn the tide in ways we cannot measure! Humanity might stand a chance--”

 

As the Maker spoke, Fury turned and sauntered away from the pair with hips swinging just a little more than needed. “While my mission does involve balance…” she said after turning around, “it does not require… them.” A haughty expression was clear on her face, “I am here to root out the seven deadly sins and return them to the council. No less… no more.”

 

Strife shot the pair a look before shaking his head and turning away. He had other things to do now that he’d diverted his sister’s anger elsewhere. He motioned to the humans which were still close enough to watch the exchange, to head towards the back of Haven. He wanted to make sure they all knew what to do and what not to do if they came across Fury while out and about.

 

Later that evening, Strife was once again perched near the top of the Maker’s tree. This time deep in thought about a great many things. But not so far distracted as to miss the manifestation of an unwanted presence. “I thought I told you to leave and not come back.”

 

“That was not one of my brethren with the Horseman.” Anger, confusion, dare one say even worry tinged the Watchers voice.

 

Strife raised an eyebrow. ‘Now this is interesting,’ he thought. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

 

The Watcher flitted from side to side as if pacing. “Because I know what my brethren feel like. And that.. That.. Thing.. Was anything but.”

 

“Then what was it?”

 

The Watcher stopped moving and turned its multi-eyed, mouthless face towards the distant direction the Horseman had gone. “I… don’t know…” It turned to face the Horseman turned human. “How did it even get past the Council?” it asked, like a child wanting to know why.

 

“Better yet.. Why did the Council let it?” Strife countered. He had no love for Watchers but even he could feel an iota of pity for the creature.

  
  


“Done killing monsters yet?” Strife asked her sarcastically on one of her visits back. He just got a sneer in return as she passed him by as she explored Haven some. He was there every time another Human appeared in Haven. He made sure to meet with each one to gauge their state before pairing them up with one of the current residents. Honestly he was surprised at how many humans had survived outside of Haven, especially in some of the locations they said they had been hiding in. Better yet, he was amazed once he found out just how they go to those places and why they were there in the first place. Never let it be said that humans were not persistent and ingenious when it came to surviving. “Without Ulthane.. I don’t know if any of them would have made it out,” he commented as she passed him by on her way out.

 

It was also during this time Strife was seeing a subtle change in his sister. Oh she was still arrogant at times (he had suspected for a long time that it was an inherent trait in all Nephilim), but that arrogance towards humans was morphing into respect for them as well. He was also seeing hints of amusement and amazement from her with a smattering of envy, confusion, pride, longing and a few more emotions. He could say he was down right proud of his sister for, as some humans would have said, finally growing up. Until they could meet up again to trade stories, he could only guess  at what trials and tribulations she was facing alone.

  
  


Almost two weeks from the day Fury appeared in Haven, the rogue Watcher came flying in with all the subtlety of a rampaging demon, shouting at the top of its non-corporeal lungs for Strife.

 

Strife, who had been a level up discussing some plans with several of the humans, let out a string of multi-lingual curses and left the group to deal with the Watcher. “What in all the Hells are you doing?” he growled out, grabbing at the creature as it whirled around him.

 

“I know what that thing was with Fury!” the Watcher said as it slid to a stop in front of the rather pissed off Horseman. “It was one of the Seven! Envy… it all makes sense….” it babbled.

 

“ ‘ere now, what’s going on?” asked Ulthane as he and the other two Makers joined the pair.

 

“Seems like the ‘Watcher’ that was with Fury was really Envy in disguise,” Strife growled.

 

Ulthane pressed his lips together as he hummed. “What do ye want to do lad?” he finally asked.

 

The gunner turned to the Watcher, “Can you take us to her?”

 

With a tilt of its head, the Watcher debated for a moment. “Yes. Or at least to the general area below where she fought Pride.” It had watched from afar since it could not breach the Sin’s defenses. “I know not whether or not the Horseman still lives….” it added.

 

Strife growled softly as he closed his eyes and searched within him for something that would tell him if his sister was alive or dead. “Gah!” Nothing. “Either way, we need to make sure the humans are ready to go at a moment’s notice. If Fury did loose, then what you have here won’t stand a chance against Hell’s army, a Sin bent on claiming everything as its own, or even the Charred Council and their minions.”

 

The Makers exchanged looks, nodding silently. “Aye lad.. As much as I want to believe we can stand up to anything thrown at us, the humans would still pay the price,” Ulthane conceded as he looked at Strife. He turned to the others again. “Make sure, each and every one of the wee ones have everything necessary to start over in a new location. Me and the lad here will go retrieve the Horseman.” He looked towards the sky to judge the time. “We should be back not long after sunset. We’ll make the decision then about the move.”

  
  


As estimated, the trio arrived back at Haven about an hour after sunset. Most of the humans had settled in for the night with the idea of getting as much rest as possible after being told about the upcoming relocation. The Two Makers continued their work as well as kept guard. The female Maker pointed Ulthane and company towards the room that Strife usually occupied.

 

“Ye sure we should just leave her weapons on her?” Ultane asked as he lay the still unconscious Fury down on the stack of pallets turned bed.

 

Strife nodded. “Definitely.” He waited till the Maker had stepped back before arranging his sister into a more comfortable position. Well as comfortable as one could be while still fully armed and armored. “Thanks again,” he said as he slid a folded blanket under her head.

 

The Maker looked between the pair for a moment then nodded. “Aye lad. When she wakes, have her come see me,” Ulthane said as he left the room.

 

Satisfied, Strife settled into an overstuffed chair to wait. He knew from experience that she would be a little sore, maybe bruised in a few places, when she woke. As part of the deal with the Council, almost instant healing had been part of their ‘gifted’ powers, so a fall from the height she had fallen from was nothing. As long as they were at full power that is, and from what he’d seen, she had been sanctioned to go after the Sins so she wasn’t handicapped. He figured he’d only have to wait maybe an hour or two at the most.

 

Subtle movements of neck, shoulders and torso announced Fury’s awakening. She could feel the crossblade still strapped to her back, the weight of Scorn at her right hip and the other talismans at her left. She could hear sounds of hammer against stone coming from elsewhere, the rustling of material close by and the smell the stale musk of a human male in the room. She wasn’t alone.

 

“You snore.”

 

At the sound of the human - Jones’ - voice, Fury lifted her head to scan the area. ‘I do not snore,’ she thought indignantly.

 

“Maybe it's a broken nose,” Strife said with an indifferent seeming shrug and a wave of the hand which lay across one knee.

 

Once upon a time, she would have refused to show any form of weakness in front of anyone. But now, she let out a soft groan as she swung her legs over the side of the platform she had been laying on and sat up. She was sore from head to foot from the fall and worn down from the back to back fights with two of the Sins. Rolling her shoulders, she leaned forward and let her head hang slightly as she closed her eyes to take stock of her magic. 

 

Leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, Strife watched his sister from under the hood. “Well, looks like you’ve been busy.. doing what I have no idea-- other than getting your ass handed to you.” His voice was a mix of taunting and teasing at the same time. Enough of one to get her to focus on him instead of brooding and enough of the other keep her from really becoming mad. Typical sibling interaction in other words.

 

With a huffed growl, Fury opened her eyes to glare at the human, her fingers curled around the edge of the wood. “Who are you, human, to speak to me like this?” she demanded. Her voice low and rough sounding as she clenched her teeth in anger.

 

Strife let his sister’s anger slide off him like lava off a high ranked demon’s back. “Oh I’m just another refugee.. Like you.” His tone then changed. “But I’m not strong enough to defend the Balance. That’s your purpose,” he pointed out, as if she had forgotten it. 

 

Fury’s whole demeanor seemed to change in a blink of an eye. Gone was the (over)confident, impatient and demanding Horseman. She drew back a little and hung her head in shame. Her voice, once fierce and angry was now hesitant and weak. “I have learned… that I am weak.” And just like that, she slumps in defeat, like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

Under the hood, Strife presses his lips together for a moment. He couldn’t give up on his sister, nor could he let her give up on herself. “Well maybe now you finally understand how all humans feel,” he says simply. “Pulled into a war they never asked for.” He jabbed a finger in Fury’s direction and continued on. “Left to their own devices against forces they cannot possibly understand of effectively fight. All of humanity has been betrayed..,” he said, looking at the ground as he shook his head. ‘More than just humanity has been betrayed..’ he thought. He lifted his head to look at Fury once more, a sense of wonder tinting his words. “And yet… they still fight on..”  What about you?”

 

At the question, Fury cringed inward. “I have stayed from the path.” The words were bitter in her mouth as she spoke them, “I have been jealous. I have been wrathful. I have been lazy. Worse and more. All the things the Seven Sins stand for and I have paid dearly for it.” Her thoughts went to her beloved steed, Rampage, who paid the price for her sins.

 

“So in other words… you have lived.”

 

It took the Horseman a few moments to answer, but answer she did. “Yes.”

 

“Good then. You are finally alive. And with life, there is always hope.” 

 

“Hope?” Fury asked as a spark of anger flared to life. “I was humbled in my battle with Envy. No doubt she’s on her way to destroy the Charred council even as we speak. And I remain stranded on Earth. So when you speak of hope, human… I cannot concur. All hope is lost.” That spark flared for a moment then died out once again.

 

“No..” Strife couldn’t help but chuckle as he stood up. “Haven is built on hope,” he said. “Come.. speak to Ulthane. You’ll see.” His sister, who once had been so focused on her ‘duties’ and blind to everything else, had finally opened her eyes to the world around her. He was proud of her. Now if she would only realize what was in front of her face this entire time.

 

Fury had finally figured out what it was about this particular human that irked her so. It wasn’t that he was Human, it was that he reminded her so damned much of her brother Strife when they were just younglings still, long before they became Horsemen. With a sigh that turned to a grunt of pain, she stood up and trailed after the human. By the time she arrived on the edge of the balcony style walkway, Jones was already down below speaking with the Maker. She surveyed the gathering, unsure of what to expect as each small group turned their attention towards her. She narrowed her eyes, not use to such scrutiny from those she had once thought so below her. “Why… did they help me?” she asked after glancing around once more.

 

“It’s uh…” Ulthane shrugged, “kinda what humans do. And the fact that you sent more than a few survivors our way didn’t hurt.”

 

“All for naught,” Fury returned as she turned her head away.

 

“We didn’t pull ye from the rubble to quite now!” The Maker scolded. “Envy holds the power of the Seven. Your betrayal can be seen on your face. Left for dead like some useless, discarded thing. But it is not over!”

 

Reaching for the hanging from her left hip, Fury held out a taliman the size of her open hand. “Here. Take it. A ‘gift’ from the Lord of Hollows. Deserves to be in stronger hands than mine.” Even to her own ears, Fury sounded tired. Worn out from her trials on the mission.

 

Ulthane’s eyes opened wide at the site of the talisman. “You know not what you offer, Horseman…” his voice soft with almost reverence. “You cannot be serious.”

 

“It’s important?” Fury asked. “Clearly I'm not worthy. Don’t you want it?” she questioned, still holding it out.

 

“This…” the Maker started with a small shake of his head. “Was not meant for me. The Lord of Hollows knew whom he was choosing. His faith will not be questioned. Not by me, anyways,” he added.

 

Fury returned the Talisman to her belt, still confused. “What?”

 

“This milestone should be acknowledged. If you won’t do it… I’ll do so for ye.” Ulthane turned and walked to the center of the room where the stone he had been working on for some time, had been finished. And not too soon either.

 

“A reflecting pool?” Fury gazed down at the swirling blue liquid. It wasn’t water, even though it did look like it. Dark blue, almost black at its center with swirling ripples moving towards the out edges where it turned white with Power.

 

“Aye, with a few…” Ulthane replied proudly, with a wink and a sly grin, “adjustments. But tis only meant for you. Will only take you to yer heart’s desire.”

 

“I desire only to finish what the Council began,” The Horseman answered with more confidence than she had earlier.

 

“Find your resolve, Horsman. It's all you have now. And it is what you need if yer to stop Envy and unseat yer former masters.”

 

“Humanity wouldn’t be here without you, Fury. Remember that!” Strife called from part way around the pool as he waved a hand then turned and strode away.

 

Without looking back, Fury strode into the pool and vanished.

 

Once he was sure Fury was gone, Strife called all the humans together. “All right everyone, if we’re damned lucky we’ll have till sunset to get out of here and to a safe location. If not, we’ll have an hour or two max. I want you all to have your packs on and you ready to go at a moments notice.” He scanned the gathering, catching each person’s eye as he did. “If you can’t live without it, make sure it’s on your person. There’s no turning back to retrieve that item, you hear me? You turn back, I can’t promise anyone will be able to save you.” He turned to one man and pointed. “Tucker, I’m putting you in charge in case I don’t make it.”

 

The man, Tucker, nodded nervously. The idea of being the one in charge was a daunting prospect. Especially when trying to fill the shoes of someone like Jones.

 

Strife smile reassuringly at Tucker. “I know Fury is rather abrasive and intimidating to anyone not use to dealing with her, but I can assure you that once you get past that thorny exterior, she’s got a good heart,” he said as he put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just try not to piss her off too much though,” he added with a grin.

 

Tucker just blanched but nodded again.

 

“Go, gather your things,” Strife said, making a shooing gesture.

  
  


Time had finally run out for the inhabitants of Haven….

 

Deep inside Haven….

 

Strife leaned back against a wall and just breathed. Whatever Fury had done, it had broken the Council’s hold over him for the moment. The rush of power returning was a heady experience, even for him, but he wasn’t about to go out there with guns blazing. Not yet anyways. If things became too bad then yes, he’d step in and give Haven’s protectors a helping hand. But until then, he’d wait and watch and nudge everyone in the right direction.

 

Outside….

 

One of the humans who’d been out by the entrance, turned and started running for his life. Hot on his heels was a demon, a pit spawn to be precise. So intent on catching its prey, the pit spawn never saw the huge battle axe, nor the equally large Maker who wielded the weapon, that took its life. The Maker just grunted in satisfaction before he swung the weapon up to rest on his shoulder.

 

“Unity is key. If we are to move forward from here, we must move as one…” Ulthane said in a voice loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

 

Behind the Maker, the reflecting pool glowed brightly as a bubble formed above its surface. A moment later, Fury dropped into the water. With a hand on her right hip, she straightened with a grunt and limped forward. She knew it would only take a few minutes at most for her to be back at full health once again, but those few minutes were not something the Council had granted. “You won’t make it,” she said with a shake of her head.

 

“The Council?” Ulthane asked as he raised his hands, palm up.

 

“Enraged. No doubt fueling the attack on Haven in secret. If you have a plan, for them--” she gestured to the humans gathered around. Every human turned to look at the Horseman. Fear could be seen clearly on their faces. “The Time is Now,” Fury finished. “Heaven, Hell, the Charred Council… they wish to see them annihilated. You know this, but perhaps you don’t know the reason…” Turning Fury looked around then continued. “Even before the Apocalypse, why were your lives so hard?” she asked rhetorically. “Because you were created for a great purpose… and left unprotected. So those who fear you have set out to destroy you with false promises and wars and ‘sin’ that they blame on you!”

 

From the walkway above, Strife moved to the railing and looked down at his sister as she continued to speak. He nodded his head at her words.

 

Raising her hands, Fury kept going. “They all fear you. That fear can be used against them. Humanity can win this war.”

 

“Look around you,” Ulthane interrupted. “That is what’s left of Humanity,” he said raising his hands and pointing from human to human, “and we are in no shape to fight a war on the scale you suggest.”

 

Up above, Strife just smirked. ‘Oh how wrong you are big guy.’

 

“No, you must hide.”

 

“From the eyes of Heaven and Hell? The Council..?”

 

Fury looked at the Maker, eyes narrowing slightly, her expression one of seriousness.

 

Ulthane must have seen something in the Horseman, for a moment later he nodded in agreement. “That’s exactly what must be done.” He looked to his fellow makers and nodded to them. The next instant, they were waving for the humans to gather closer to the pool. “But what Humanity needs more than a good hidey-hole.. Is a protector.”

 

Eyes going wide, Fury repeated the last two words she had heard. “A protector..?” she turned at watched the humans as they came closer.

 

The sound of something crash-landing followed by explosions and the entire area shaking hard enough to cause dust and dirt to fall had both Horseman and the Maker running for the entrance. What they saw was the approaching hordes of demons of all shapes and sizes.

 

As a dragon like demon landed, the wood beneath its clawed feet started to char black then burn from the heat of the Hellfires which still enveloped it. There was no mistaking the creature for anything except the commander of Hell’s forces on Earth. “Charge! Let the armies of Hell eliminate all that is human! Once and for all, we shall raze this planet!” it bellowed out as sparks flew from its body and flames from its mouth.

 

Demons rushed forward at the command as a sub-commander blew a horn, its deep call reverberating off the buildings. Pit spawn, legion soldiers and champions, and traumas made up the hordes. They lept and bound over tree limbs and roots, knocking old rusted vehicles out of the way with the ease of a child throwing its toys about. Like a swarm of deadly army ants, the demons clawed their way to the top.

 

The Makers defending Haven were lucky. The demons had inadvertently spaced themselves out enough that the pair were able to quickly and easily dispatch the invaders with a single blow from axe and hammer.

 

“Makers! If you honor your station, do what must be done!” Ulthane bellowed above the din of battle. He saw Fury rush by him with the intent to do battle but he called and beckoned for her. “Horseman! Come!”

 

“But-” The Horseman looked from the demons to Ulthane back to the demons again. The desire to join the fight as plain as day on her face.

 

“The Makers will buy us the necessary time to shuttle the other humans away!” The Maker explained.

 

As the pair were headed up the ramp like stairs, Strife was making his way down them. It was time for him to help protect Haven until all the humans were safely gone. As he passed his sister, he turned his head and met her eye to eye. She would make a fine protector for the humans.

 

As she passed the human, Jones, she spared him only the briefest of glances. Too many things were going on too fast for her to question why the human was rushing into a fight with demons instead of away. When she caught up to Ulthane, she questioned him. “Away... To where?!”

 

Ulthane glanced over his shoulder. “Not back to the Council chamber...What sort of maker would i be if I built a doorway that only connected two places huh?” he asked with a laugh. “Your heart’s desire Horseman… a safe place for the poor unwanted,” he explained, gesturing to the pool.

 

As Fury passed the humans, she looked (for the first time maybe) from face to face and saw fear, desperation and..hope. “I don’t understand--”

 

The first human passed between Maker and Horseman, the one called Tucker. He would take up the mantle of leader, just as Strife had asked of him.

 

“You will. Sadly… you will understand it all as you travel with them.”

 

One by one humans passed the pair, each with a heavy pack filled with everything from simple tools to survive to precious keepsakes.

 

“Me?” Fury asked. She would much rather be out there fighting than playing shepard to a bunch of humans.

 

“They are in need of a protector. And you need new purpose. Am I wrong?” Ulthane asked.

 

The sound of an explosion followed by another round of the great Maker’s tree in which Haven was located, shook with enough force that all but the Horseman and the Maker stumbled.

 

Fury turned once more, taking several steps so she could see the fierce fighting outside the entrance. The demons had swarmed up in greater numbers as the main body of the horde reached the tree. No longer were the pair of Makers taking easy swings of their weapons. As soon as one demon was down, they altered the course of their weapons and took out the next and next. One demon got a lucky hit in with its axe, hitting the male Maker in the arm, causing him to fall to one knee. It didn’t get a chance to revel in its accomplishment before it was knocked back and away with a shattered chest. The Maker was forced to take half a dozen steps backwards as an entire group of demons appeared at the same time from over the edge.

 

More explosions, closer this time as the tree trembled under the barrage. The humans, to their credit, didn’t scream and run. Gasp, and give a small cry maybe, but they gathered tighter together, ready to make their way into the pool in an orderly fashion.

 

Fury looked from group to group, before she meet the eyes of a human female. What she saw there gave her the answer to the question asked of her. Turning back to Ulthane she spoke with confidence. “I vow to use all of the power in my possession to protect humanity. And one day, we will set things right… together.” She moved closer to the pool as she spoke. Turning her head slightly she paused. “Ulthane..” she said, turning to face the maker fully. “My brother, War, is an innocent in this drama. If you ever find an opportunity to assist him in any way, I would ask you to do so.”

 

“I will,” Ulthane promised as he slowly backed away before turning to join the battle.

 

Once the last human had vanished through the portal, Fury walked into the pool. “Thank you, Maker. May our future be one of justice.”

 

The Maker paused to look back at the Horseman. “Aye.. safe travels, Horseman.” He turned and moved forward quickly, towards the fighting.

 

Fury, stood nearly knee deep in the center of the pool as she turned one last time to survey what was once a safe place for humans. She could see demons leaping upwards to add momentum into their attacks, only to have holes big enough to put her clenched fists into appear in their chests or their heads explode into a fine mist of gore.

 

Single shots and rapid multi-shots of gunfire echoed off the walls and buildings, creating a counter score to the grunts and bellows of the demons. Bodies of the now dead demons piled up around the Makers and blood puddled on the ground. Strife stood between the female and Ulthane, doing plenty of damage to, if not outright dropping, the attacking demons. Finally a trauma appeared over the edge, slamming its arms down as it roared a challenge. Strife backed up several steps as he eyed the distance between him and the demon. He let out a low growl of his own before sprinting forward and using the pile of bodies as a springboard into the air. A barrage of gunfire as he unleashed a hail of ammo into the demon. Shoulders, upper chest, and face were obliterated. When he landed he fired once more, knocking the trauma over the edge. He knew he had his sisters attention now, so let the disguise ripple away. He turned some as he glanced over his shoulder, giving her the barest of nods as he lifted Redemption in a salute. Under the helmet, a devil may care grin was on his face.

 

Fury’s eyebrows rose to her hairline as her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Strife..?” Her surprise turned to, as sappy as it sounded, happiness. She’d seen her brother, not an illusion of him, with her own eyes and knew he was (for the moment) alive and in the middle of the chaos. Just the way he liked it. But like for the humans, time had also run out for her as she felt the tug of power from the portal. Lifting her arms, she tilted her head back as the power swirled around her till she hung suspended above the rippling liquid. A heartbeat later, she was gone.

 

“Hey Ulthane, do me a favor,” Strife called out over the noise of the battle.

 

The Maker just cocked his head to the side as he smashed another demon away. “What? Help your brother if I ever have the chance?” he asked with a laugh.

 

Strife just laughed. “That’s a given.” He turned his attention to a demon trying to sneak up on the side of the female while she was busy with several others. When done he turned back to Ulthane. “No, I’d ask that you don’t go easy on him. Make him work for your help.”

 

Ulthane let out another laugh. “Oh.. aye! I can do that… now shut up and fight ya daft wee one!”

 

“Wee one!?” Strife sputtered, never missing a shot as he continued to fire into the every greater number of demons. “I’ll show you ‘wee one’!”

  
  



	14. Run Like Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return once more to the Frozen North and the exciting adventures waiting to happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title choices were: Alice Cooper “Run the Devil Down”, TSFH “Run for Your Limbs”, “Run Like Hell”, “Run N Gun” & The Score “Where do you Run”
> 
> OC age: 20+
> 
> This Chapter starts just after Chapter 12 ends

 

Once past the gates, Xaxu automatically scanned the clearing around the walls of the base. The crews were hard at work, clearing the muck of churned snow turned to bloody, blackened slush from the killzone that surrounded the base. Give it a day or two and the entire area would be blanketed once more in a thin layer of snow. Unless there was another attack that is.

 

Holding up the cylinder, Xaxu checked to see if it would indicate which direction was best. When the cylinder did not move, except for the sway of her own movement, she decided that west was as good a direction as any. Putting heel to her mount’s flanks as she clicked her tongue, she encouraged the beast to speed up. Over the thuds of her mount’s hooves hitting the frozen ground, she heard the sound of wind over feathered wings. A glance skyward confirmed that it was one of the normal aerial patrols. Along the way she passed several patrols hunting for any remaining demons that may have escaped and gone to ground.

 

Even as old as her mount was, it didn’t take Xaxu more than a couple of hours to reach the edge of the lake which surrounded the (somewhat) safe territory. Once there, she directed the beast to one of the many possible crossing points that had been set up over time. The one she chose was the shortest, most direct path to the other side of the lake. After several minutes observing the other side she narrowed her eyes in concentration. She could either blow all of her energy in getting them across fast and dry, and hope she didn’t have to tap her reserves. Or she could conserve it, take a little longer, get a bit soaked and still have all of her energy in addition to her reserves. And besides, it wasn’t like the cold weather really bothered her (or any Battleborn for that matter) at all.

 

The saddle shifted under Xaxu as the beast let out a gusty grunt and moved forward into the water. It had made the decision for her after it had scented something tantalizing on the other side. She huffed a laugh as she patted the beast on the shoulder. It took all of a moment for her to string the cylinder so that it hung between her mount’s horns which allowed her hands to be free in case she needed to draw her weapons. The crossing was a wet one like she figured since it wasn’t deep enough into the northern winter to freeze the top layer of the lake solid yet. Give it another month or two though and the mages would be inscribing wards into the ice to prevent, or slow down, any demons trying to cross it.

 

Once on the other side, Xaxu tapped into her energy just enough to dry both her and her mount off as the beast kicked snow out of the way to get at what it had scented. She let the beast have its way for the moment before she once again put heel to flank to get it moving. She set the pace to an easy trot for several more hours, keeping an eye out for any possible signs of demons or other creatures. When she felt she’d gone far enough that the base wouldn’t be affected, about a days ride, she dismounted. She took a few moments to prepare then grabbed the cylinder and opened it.

 

After several moments black, tar like substance oozed its way out of the cylinder. Almost cautiously, as if it was alive and searching for something. A strand shot out suddenly only to arc back and wrap itself around Xaxu’s wrist before it wrapped around the cylinder. It had happened so fast, she had been unable to react in time. A stinging, freezing yet burning pain made itself known where it touched her bare skin. She felt it latch into then tug at her energy, like something was using it as a rope to haul itself closer. Out of the cylinder an explosion of the substance shot out and covered a large area before her. Seconds later she was forced to her knees as a long, spindly fingered hand latched itself around her wrist in place of the strand. She had been able to lung back and grab the stirrup of her mounts saddle to keep her from going any further. A grunted command had the beast moving steadily back and to the side.

 

The only way Xaxu would be able to describe the event, was that it was like trying to pull a inverted, stillborn calf out of its exhausted mother. Not an easy or simple task. The spindly fingered hand was connected to an equally spindly arm which in turn was attached to a thin, legless torso. Atop of that sat a long narrow neck and a sharply angled head. That’s where things turned even weirder. If that was possible that is.

 

The creature wasn’t demonic, but wasn’t angelic either. More of an ethereal, quagmire of energies. The head had six eyes and no mouth. Two of the eyes were permanently closed and a third with a squint due to a rather nasty looking scar which angled across its ‘face’. Had it had a mouth, the scar would have turned the upper lip into a curled snarl. Oh.. and it spoke too, which with no mouth…never mind. Not worth the headache of trying to figure that out. “Gah! Quick, quick!” it said as it let go of Xaxu’s wrist and turned around so it could reach into the black ooze and fish around for something. “Not you! Blastest bird, shoo! Shoo! Go!”

 

A large ball of spiky black, was tossed up and out by the creature. That spiky black ball turned into a rather large, none too happy, crow. It cawed and flapped its wings which caused tidbits of the black ooze to go flying as it landed on a downed tree branch. It clacked its beak several times then hissed darkly before it started preening, its angry yellow-orange eyes only leaving the creature for a moment to check out Xaxu before returning back to the creature.

 

“Oh shut up you,” the creature hissed back. “I don’t care who created you or who you are bonded to.” It turned its head in Xaxu’s direction. “Give me a hand will you?” it held up its left arm. “I’m missing mine it seems,” it said with a crazed cackle before turning back to the pit of ooze. The creature was indeed missing part of its left arm, from elbow down. It also was cracked in the head, literally. A starburst pattern of fine lines radiating out across the side of its head.

 

Xaxu rotated her right shoulder as she rubbed the right wrist. Taking a few moments she got her now skittish mount out of the way and tied to a tree so it couldn’t find an easy excuse to find somewhere else to be. After eyeing the creature once more she frowned then looked at the pit. “I won’t lose my arm in there will I?” she asked as she cautiously stripped off her pack, coat and overshirt before she knelt down next to the edge.

 

The creature glanced at Xaxu and shrugged. “Doubtful. Lost mine elsewhere. Now… right there, yes… reach in and feel around,” it instructed. “Feel that? Like a body part.. Which it is…”

 

Xaxu hissed softly at the sudden hot/cold sensation up and down her arm. “A little late to ask, but this stuff isn’t toxic to me is it?” she asked as she wrapped her hand as best as she could, around the body part. “If what I’ve got ahold of turns out to be some male’s swinging meat, I will not hesitate to find a way to give you a mouth and shove it down it.”

 

The range of expressions on the creatures face was proof enough it understood the meaning behind the words. “What?..oh.. OH! No no no! Not that …. Hehe though he’d be right happy I bet if it was that big,” the creature snickered. “No.. heh…” it reached in from the other side and latched onto another body part. “Pull! Keep pulling..”

 

Another body, just as black ooze coated as the crow had been, slowly emerged. This time, it felt like the ooze was fighting them. Not wanting to let go of its prize. Once free though, the body was that of a male that was larger than average human, but not as big as Mikeal.

 

After helping get the male out of the pit, Xaxu grabbed handful after handful of black spruce needles and snow to wipe the ooze off her arms as best she could.

 

Once the male had been moved far enough away from the ooze, one more creature emerged.It was a horse this time. Larger than any at the base and also just as covered in the black tar like ooze as it rose majestically out of the pit and moved away so it could shake the stuff off. As with the crow, the horse likewise sent the creature a rather nasty glare before it somehow it managed to kick a rear hoof in such a way that a huge glob of the stuff hit the creature squarely in the face.

 

The creature let out an annoyed sigh but just wiped the ooze off its face. “Thank you oh gracious lady....” the creature muttered sarcastically before it started tracing symbols into the air above the pit. “All accounted for.. Time to close this portal….”

 

“That was a portal?” Xaxu asked eyeballing the pit with disbelief.

 

The creature hummed to itself before answering. “Well sort of.. I had to use what I could get my hands… hand.. On at the time… heh.. It worked didn’t it?” it turned its eyes to the Battleborn.

 

Xaxu just shrugged. “That’s debatable.” There was no way in hell she was going to take this group back to the base until she got the OK to do so. Which meant she’d have to figure out a way to contact Mikeal and let him know about all of this. She still had two more days though before her caretaker turned adopted uncle could officially start to worry. She returned to her own mount and took the time to calm the beast down some more before she fished a piece of rag out of the saddlebag and the canteen of water. As she crouched down, she noted that both the horse and the crow were watching her keenly. She dampened the rag, then looked the male over once more. “What is this stuff? Can it be left on him for a little bit longer or does it need to come off asap?” she asked as she dabbed the much away from the males nose, eyes and mouth. The areas she uncovered were raw and inflamed looking, so she could just imagine what the rest of him would look like once it was cleared off.

 

The creature floated closer, but not too close. “Asap?” it asked, puzzled for a moment until it worked the meaning out in its head. “Oh… as soon… hmmm…. Yes?” it lifted its head and stared off in an easterly direction. “Well soon… before it worsens any of his wounds too much….” the creature replied. “It’s what remains after one of my kind are created…. Though I think we may want to move somewhere else before you do that.” A snort from the horse was followed by a rather rude sounding caw from the crow before it took off into the surrounding woods.

 

Xaxu shook her head in annoyance, but stood back up. She looked around for several moments until she spotted what she needed to make a sturdy drag sled. “What are you?” she asked as she worked.

 

“I am a Watcher… was a watcher…” he said as he flicked his fingers as he turned slowly in a circle. “I still watch.”

 

“A watcher huh?” Xaxu said. “From what I’ve heard, Watchers are suppose to be slaves to some uppity muck-mucks who think they’re better than anyone else.”

 

“They are… but I’m not…” the watcher said with a giggle. “I escaped the Council’s leash…or maybe I was thrown away.” The watcher then made a gesture in the unconscious male’s direction. “He claims I’m a bit touched in the head.”

 

The battleborn just raised an eyebrow at the Watcher’s comment as she kept working. Every so often she would look up and stare off in one direction or another as if she was searching for something. Within about twenty minutes of having started the build, the drag sled was finished and ready for its passenger. A little bit of pushing, rolling, and pulling had the male in place with the smaller boughs both under and over him and her overcoat on top of that. She then lead her mount over and got it to settle down on the ground with its legs folded under it. To keep it calm as they secured the sled, she used her overshirt as a blindfold.

 

The horse had wandered over and positioned itself in front of the beast so that it was head to head with it. As the one-handed Watcher and the Battleborn lifted the front of the drag sled to put it in place, the horse leaned its head down and pinned the beast in place somehow. The Battleborn wasn’t about to question it, seeing how time was growing short for the group. Everything fell into place just in time too. The crow came winging back like there was something bigger and meaner after it. It cawed softly, as if not to draw attention to the group.

 

After one final look around to be sure she’d left nothing behind of lasting importance, then Xaxu swung up into the saddle and had put heel to flank to get her mount going. The others followed without a sound.

 

~~~~~~  


By late evening of the first day, Xaxu had found one of the numerous old hunting lodges once used by humans of the area. Long since abandoned, the woodland had reclaimed much, but not all of the building. Three of the walls were still standing (mostly), the fireplace foundation whole and the chimney had a decent draw still once the animal nests were cleared away. There was even a small natural spring that hadn’t been fouled within a couple minutes walk. That night she set to work boiling up the spruce pine needles into a weak tea solution and using it to clean away as much of the remaining ooze as possible.

 

On the second day, Xaxu had the distinct feeling that she somehow knew the male, as well as the horse and that they were being hunted. Or rather the male was being hunted down along with the Watcher. She kept her mount moving at a steady pace throughout the day, stopping frequently enough to give it a break and let it forage. If it wasn’t for the condition of her mount, she would have kept them traveling through the night. As it was, she was forced to find a large enough cluster of trees so some type shelter would be had for the beast.

 

The third and fourth days out were almost exact duplicates of the second day.

 

It was subtle at first, but every time Xaxu tried to turn their course to the south east, something would drive them back towards the north west. Farther and farther away from the base and any possible help. While the trio of the Watcher, horse and crow showed no sign of exhaustion, Xaxu had come off seven day patrol rotation just prior to this little excursion. And unlike the patrol rotations where mounts were swapped out every other day, this one had been given no rest and it was showing on the old beast. The unconscious male was also showing no sign of awakening or improvement, but at least his condition wasn’t deteriorating either.

 

On the fifth day, by mid-day, a nasty storm was brewing. One that Xaxu thought to be unnatural, much like that storm a week back. Too much Power in it and too sinister feeling to ignore it as simply some magic user (Angelic or Demonic) having ‘fun’.

 

“Change of plans,” the Battleborn said she dismounted to let the beast rest yet again.

 

The Watcher, who hadn’t said much since the first day, floated close. “Hope you’re not going to challenge whatever it is that’s hunting us. I’m crazy and even I know that’s an insane plan.”

 

“Nope,” Xaxu replied as she walked up to the horse. “If she’s willing to pull the sled and carry me, we’re going to attempt to break past our tail and make a run for Rene. When we do that, this old fellow is going to be heading in the direction whatever it is wants us to go.” She met the horses eyes with her own. It was, again, like she knew the horse, but couldn’t remember from when or where she knew it. But she knew that the horse had accepted the plan. “Thank you,” she said with a nod before turning back to the Watcher. “How tangible are you?”

 

The Watcher floated in place as it slowly blinked it’s good eyes. “Pretty solid. I can interact with my environment when and how I wish if that’s what you ask.”

 

With another nod, Xaxu got to work building a second drag sled. Once finished, she and the Watcher transferred the male onto it. She instructed the watcher to load a few heavy objects onto the sled so it would look like it still carried a passenger as she unsaddled the beast. It wasn’t a perfect fit. It wasn’t even a good fit, but the horse accepted the saddle with grace. The head tack on the other hand had been nixed the moment she held it up questioningly. “Sorry lady, promise it’ll be off once we’re all safe,” she said as she gave the horse a good scratch along her neck.

 

When everything was set and ready, Xaxu hauled herself up into the saddle and nodded to the Watcher. With a thumbs up (where it learned that gesture was anyone's guess) the Watcher gave the beast a good, hard slap, being sure to let the talon like tips of its fingers rank across the beasts rump as it did so. As planned, it let out a bellow of surprised pain and took off. Once it shot away the Watcher slid into the makeshift harness that was fastened to end of the new drag sled and lifted it off the ground so no marks would be left behind.

 

Taking a deep breath then letting it out slowly, Xaxu reached for her energy and gave it intent, shaping it to her desire and need. As with any time she ever tried to actively use any spells, they tended to only work when she really, really needed them to. In this case, she needed them to not be detected in any form or fashion by their pusures. And it worked.

 

When the Watcher had put the harness on, it was facing backwards as it floated along, so it could keep an eye on their backtrail. Within minutes, a pack of one of the many creatures the Council used, passed them by. Not a one realized they missed their prey by a few feet. Blinking, it looked up into the tree branches and spotted the crow, who was flapping from branch to branch as it scouted a safe trail. Had it a mouth, it would have been curled up in a grin. With its one hand, it gave a variety of very rude, one- and two-fingered gestures that humans had been (are still?) so very found of as a way to show what it thought of the Council and its servants.

 

~~~~

 

When she was younger, Xaxu had had the pleasure of riding one of the few horses that called the base home. It hadn’t been for very far or fast, but even to this day she remembered the smooth trot of the horse compared to the bouncing trot of the caribou mounts. If she had to compare traveling on this horse verses the one in her youth, she’d say flat out there was no comparison. And the speed! Oh the caribou could travel pretty fast if they had to, but not for longer than an hour at the most. This horse had transitioned from walk to trot to full out gallop in less than a minute and hadn’t slowed down a bit. That was hours ago. Already they’d covered the distance it took two days to cover on the old beast. At this speed, they’d be back at the lake crossing in another five or six hours. If luck was with them and nothing went wrong that is.

 

But that wasn’t to be.

 

Xaxu had hoped they would have had even more of a lead on their hunters, but even though the horse had the stamina, even it couldn’t maintain the phenomenal speed it had started out with. Plus she suspected whatever it was that was hunting them was just part of a bigger, more dangerous group.

 

“Guess who’s back,” the Watcher said in a sing-song voice. “The first two don’t count…,” it added. When the creatures first appeared on their back trail, it had been able to drop some very simple yet destructive sigils traps. But after the first couple fell victim, the rest learned what to avoid. Since then it had been using whatever it could snag as a weapon, which for the moment was what was left of the Battleborn’s rifle.

 

One creature leapt, thinking it could grab the Watcher or the sled in its jaws and slow its prey, but found its head smashed in instead. It’s dieing body did little to slow the rest of the pack as it tumbled to a stop in the churned up snow.

 

“Oops…,” the Watcher said as it looked at what was left of the weapon.

 

“Don’t tell me you broke it!” Xaxu yelled over her shoulder as she carefully aimed and fired at another creature who was getting too close to their flank. She had to make each shot count due to running low on ammo. Once she was out, she’d be forced to use her blade. She really did not want to use her hook-blade because that would mean the creatures would be in dangerously close range.

 

The Watcher just cackled. “Ok, I won’t!” it replied as it slung the useless thing into a small grouping of their pursuers. None of the creatures even slowed down as they scattered. “Well Pooh,” it muttered in disappointment.

  
~~~~

 

Xaxu’s world narrowed down to the here and now of the instant. She’d lost her hook-blade and pack when a creature made the leap that almost took her out of the saddle. It had cost the creature its life though so fair exchange had been made. She tossed the gun prior to that as it had run out of ammo finally. She no longer felt the burning cold of the unnatural winter storm chasing after them or the searing heat of the claw marks running from the top of her arm over her shoulder. Her lips were cracked and bleeding and the skin of her face felt raw from wind burn, but that didn’t deter her from urging the horse on. She would never be able to say what prompted her to reach out with one hand and curl her fingers around seemingly nothing. She twisted around in the saddle as she swung one leg over the back of the saddle, her other foot still firmly in the stirrup. One hand secure in its grip of the saddle gullet, in the other was the solid, heavy and very familiar weight of Mercy. She held her fire for several heartbeats until…

 

The sound of something monstrously huge crashing through the trees behind the group. A roar shook the trees causing what snow had been left clinging to the limbs to explode in a flurry of white.

 

_‘Fire!’_  The word was loud and soft, spoke out loud and whispered in her ear, in the voice of someone known and some stranger. It was a command, a suggestion, a request all rolled into one. There was pride of a job well done and the demand to keep at it and the taunt that it couldn’t be repeated. Everything and nothing.

 

Xaxu pulled the trigger. Again and again and again. Creatures dropped. Their carcases leaving smears of red gore and black ashe across the landscape. Trees that were hit shuddered under the impact. Swinging back up into the saddle then over the other side, she traded hands and kept firing.

 

The horse hit the shore of the lake and didn’t stop. In fact it put on a burst of speed as it flew across frozen water. Its hooves never once touching the ice. Instead it traveled over a layer of white mist where the ice flashed over into steam and souls instantly.

 

“Fire!”

 

Spears of gold tinged light flashed down like a deadly rain of arrows. From below a bright, transparent blue light shot up creating a wall. And just in time as a stream of deadly, absolute zero degree temperature collided with it. Thunderous cracking could be heard for miles as the water below the surface ice instantly froze then shattered. Ice, from tiny shades to large chunks flew everywhere.

 

Another roar as the huge head of some abyssal creature appeared once the snow and mist cleared. It starred with an intense, calculated hatred at the group that escaped its hunt. Smaller creatures, like felines made of ice and crystal and snow prowled around its legs. A low rumbling growl, felt as much as heard, came rolling across the distance before the creatures melted back into the woods. An uneasy silence descended upon the area.

 

The horse slowed then stopped several miles inland. It stood there, legs splayed and head bowed as its sides heaved like bellows. The Watcher said not a word as it looked around in wonderment, like a child seeing the snow covered woods for the first time.  The crow landed next to the head of the passenger on the miraculously still intact drag sled. As for Xaxu, she tucked Mercy in her lap as she slowly fell forward in exhaustion.

 

Mikeal and the other Fallen who’d been on watch for the Battleborn landed close by. He slowly approached, giving the Watcher the side-eye as he did. It took a moment for him to recognize the horse as well as the sled’s passenger. “By all that’s Holy!” he uttered as he quickly signaled for one of the others to fly ahead to alert the base of incoming injured.

 

Xaxu managed to sit upright at the Fallen’s words. “Hi Uncle… I’m home,” she croaked as she swayed side to side.

 

Mikeal reached over in time to pluck the Battleborn out of the saddle as her eyes rolled back in her head and she was promptly out of it. Cradling the smaller female to his chest, he spread one wing and cautiously laid it over the horse’s back. “Thank you Grief, for bringing her and Strife back to us. Let’s go home.”

 


	15. Life in a Northern Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Strife to stop napping and get to work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life, like always, determines the rate at which I write/post. Thanks for sticking around :)

EW 45+ (2 weeks after last chap)

(age 20)

  
  


For Xaxu, life after the ‘recon mission turned rescue’ returned somewhat to normal. She slept for nearly a full day. The claw marks on her shoulder were cleaned, then examined by both a human medic and an Fallen Healer. Both agreed that the wounds only needed to be kept clean and bandaged and that they would heal over time on their own. The first of the battle scars she would acquire throughout her long life. She was put on what was considered light/restricted duty until further notice. As for the others she brought back with her…well….

 

Grief was in the pens with the rest of the caribou mounts. Because she would only allow Xaxu, Mikeal or Denea to physically touch her, she was there instead of in the stables with the handful of horses. The saddle had, of course, been removed as soon as they were all back at the base. Since then she has managed to get most of the ooze scraped off by rubbing against things or by rolling. The rest was removed by Xaxu during a good warm water scrub followed by a rub down and a brushing. If she could still move back and forth between realms like all phantom steeds had the ability to do, she didn’t show it.

 

The Watcher had been put in a warded cell. Unfortunately it had easily bypassed the wards and been caught wandering the base. Several times. It was given the ultimatum of stay in the cell or be destroyed (“I’d really love to see you try,” it had muttered to itself at that little meeting.) A compromise was made after it proved to be rather hard to kill. It would tag along with the Battleborn Reaver Xaxu until it either proved itself trustworthy, the third member of the ‘rescued group came to to vouch for it, or it was killed.

 

The third member of the group, Strife, did not regain consciousness for almost two weeks. He was kept in an isolation room in the infirmary for the first week as Angelic and Battleborn healers worked around the clock to keep any infections at bay as they removed what was left of the ooze. Being coated in it had basically turned him into one extra large, humanoid shaped blister. Luckily, he only lost the top layer, and in some areas the middle layer, of skin.  After his skin had finished re-growing (a shade lighter and a few less scars now according to Mikeal), he had been transferred to a regular room. Between Denea, Mikeal and Xaxu, he was never left unattended.

 

And the crow, lets not forget about the crow. It spent the first week perched on the sill of a window closest to the infirmary isolation room. Anytime someone tried to shoo it away, it would caw scathingly at the person or hiss and clack its beak threateningly. The second week was spent perched somewhere on the bed. While there, any time one of the program doctors just happened to stop by to check on the nephilim, it would become very aggressive towards them. Especially if they made any move to collect any ‘samples’. After all it wasn’t every day that a ‘golden goose’ of non-humans showed up, and in an easy to take advantage of state to boot. Can’t blame them for trying, can you?

 

The day that Strife decided to rejoin the world of the conscious was one that turned out to be completely average. Over time, he had been edging closer and closer to wakefulness. Voices rose and fell around him. The surface under him shifted, sank down then sprang up again a little bit later. He could feel fingers combing through his hair soothingly. Hands, both soft and calloused slide across his skin. Dust, that oh so annoying bird of his brother’s, being a steady presence as well as a fierce protector when needed. Slowly so not to alert those around him, he opened one eye a fraction. He recognized at least two of the people in the room. Denea was sitting on the edge of the bed with a winged infant on her lap and her once  golden hued hair was now mostly white with darker gray highlights. Mikeal, who was sitting on rolling stool and looking unchanged, held another winged infant on his. A third person was slumped down in the only chair in the room with Dust nestled in their lap as they stroked it from head to tail. Behind the person in the chair, a Watcher leaned back into the corner with its arms crossed over its chest and its eyes closed, as if it was asleep. He closed his eye, the corner of his mouth creeping up into ghost of a smirk. “See… told you I’d have… you in my bed one day….” he muttered, voice rough from disuse.

 

It didn’t take much to get the crow to remove itself from her lap and once it did, Xaxu stood up and stretched. “I’ll take Erin and Kaop back to our quarters,” she said, reaching out for the one Denea was holding. Once Erin, the boy, was securely snuggled up against her shoulder she turned to Mikeal.

 

The Fallen stood up and handed over the girl, Kaop, to the Battleborn. As he did, he automatically adjusted the infants wings before giving the young woman a one armed hug.

 

Denea slid off the side of the bed and gave Xaxu a quick hung as well. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said before she claimed the chair the young woman had been sitting in. 

 

“Ok,” Xaxu returned. “Night D,” she said in parting as she disappeared out the door.

 

Strife had opened his eyes and watched the exchange. There was something just so familiar about the gray hued female but he couldn’t figure it out. He huffed a sigh as he closed his eyes again. A moment later he was twisting his head away from Dust who had decided to preen the hair next to his ear. “Stop it!” he hissed in tired annoyance as he tried to lift a hand to shoo the crow away. “How long?” he finally asked.

 

“Eighteen years, give or take a few months,” Denea answered.

 

The Horseman made a soft noise in response. “Damn… a long time.”

 

“That’s not that long of a time span,” Mikeal commented.

 

“For you or me, it’s just a blink of an eye considering our lifespan. If we’re not killed that is. But for humans…” Strife pointed out as he opened his eyes again. He was tired, he hurt, his skin felt too tight and itches like crazy in some places, not to mention there was something… intrusive in a very personal location that he was so not comfortable with. “That’s a life time for some humans.” 

 

The rustle of feathers as Mikeal shifted his wings. “True...” He had seen humans born only to die within a few years. Those few who made it past infancy were expected to survive long enough to sire or bare the next generation. Not an easy task to live up to anymore.

 

“Fill me in?” Strife requested as he shifted in the bed in an attempt to alleviate some of the uncomfortable sensations.

 

“We transferred from UK to here, Canada, about a decade ago,” Denea said. “Got put in charge of more Battleborn. Was going good then I had to retire as handler after a too close of a call. I couldn’t use being a handler anymore as an excuse to get around one of the new laws that were enacted so I have three kids now. Twin girls and a boy. Their dads are raising em since I’m considered a bad influence. On the girls at least,” she added.

 

Mikeal just snorted. “Those girls adore you,” he said softly. “It’s the men that-”

 

“Mikeal.. Don’t start.”

 

“Fine.”

 

The silence that took over had a strained feel to it, so Strife stepped in to break it. “So what happened to not having anymore offspring?” he asked with a mix of light teasing and curiosity.

 

“What?”

 

“Those three that left, they’re yours right?” Strife asked innocently. “The coloration is a little odd, but I’ve never seen an infant angel either so I don’t know if the wings are the right color or not. And the other one, must get their wings from the mother’s side. Demonic crossbreed right? Never seen any other race except demons that had those type wings. And speaking of the mother….She’s a little young for you isn’t she?”

 

Mikeal’s wings fluffed out indignantly then settled down once he reminded himself that the nephilim had been out of the loop (as the humans liked to say) for nearly two earth decades. “Hmph! Everyone’s a ‘little’ young for me,” he pointed out. “Only other Fallen and some of the demons are older than I am, and that’s not saying much. As for new born angels, almost all are born with white feathers. Occasionally there’s one born with off white or cream colored feathers but they never make it past the first year. ‘Accidents’ of course,” he said as he held up his hands and made quotation marks with his fingers at the word ‘accidents’. “Oh, and that wasn’t the infant's birth mother. She ended up with the twins when she made a huge fuss after they were brought in after being born. I don’t remember, did she kill that orderly or not?” he asked Denea.

 

The woman leaned back in the chair as she dredged up the memory. “No, but she sure as hell made him wish he was dead.” She turned back to the Horsemen. “You remember the practice of removing the wings from any children born with them, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Strife frowned. Personally he thought the people in charge that implemented that set of ‘regulations’ regarding Battleborn should have had their arms removed then hung out as bait.

 

“So far, every single child that’s been born with wings and then had them butchered off, has been more than a little touched in the head. If they don’t go crazy and get themselves killed on the front lines then they withdraw into themselves to the point they might as well be dead. And when I say butcher, I mean butcher. I Just about killed one of the doctors myself when I saw him take a pair of surgical shears and just cut a newborn's wings off like he was pruning a plant or something. That bastard didn’t even use any anesthetic!” Denea was more than a little worked up about it. “I’ve tried and tried and tried to get those… those..  _ Scheißkerl  _ in charge to stop the practice but those lazy  _ arschlöcher  _ claim it hard to handle winged Battleborn..that clipping their wings makes them more docile.”

 

Mikeal made a ‘and there you have it’ type gesture. “So when the twins were born, she was there in the nursery. She had ‘punishment’ duty in there for once again, refusing to breed with one of the male ‘studs’ as they are called, disfigured him as well. Anyways, the way she tells it, as soon as they were brought in, she claimed she knew them. When the orderly came in to take off their wings, she confronted him.”

 

Denea chimed in then. “What she did was beat the ever living hell out of him, broke both arms so badly he’s still healing and took off a couple of fingers from both hands ‘so he knows what loss of limbs are like’ she said. He claims he was set up when they found body parts in his quarters, that she put them there.”

 

“You and I both know that because he is a ‘pure blood’ human his word will always be taken over an Battleborn. No matter how old, experienced or good their reputation is,” Mikeal pointed out in disgust. “Even the word of us Fallen are questioned when put against those of a pure blood human.” Again his feathers fluffed out then resettled as he shifted his wings. “But whatever… The higher ups in command decided that she can raise em since she put up such a stink about it all. They can’t do anything worse than put her on the shittiest duties since she’s the best Battleborn they’ve ever had. Figure she’ll get tired of the twins and send em back after few days.”

 

The old woman just laughed. “Jokes on them. That was what? Two? Three months ago?”

 

“About that yeah,” the Fallen agreed. “Hells below and Heavens above, she Named them even. And I don’t just mean turned that garbage they are tagged with into something. I mean she Named them. Like you did for her.”

 

“Wait.. what?!” Strife jerked upright at that. “What do you mean ‘like I did for her’?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a grimace as his body let him know right quick it wasn’t happy with his actions. “Do I know her? She’s familiar.. But.. I can’t... remember..” he groaned out reaching up to cradle his head in his hands, “Feels like I have a litter of grappleclaws stomping about inside it.”

 

The Watcher spoke up for the first time, reminding everyone that it was still there. “I’m not surprised considering how much of a fight you put up. The Council really mucked with your noggin this time,” the Watcher said as it floated closer then flicked a finger against the Horseman’s head before skittering out of reach. “They started off things by stripping everything they ever gave you before turning  you over to one of their hirelings. Acted like they were too good to do their own dirty work. Some Abyssal creature called Snowflake? No… whore frost? Oops wrong one heheheh.. Ah-ha! Frost….er…. Something….” it waved its only hand airly about. “Just think.. You are the most unique being in all of creation now. One hundred percent pure, unaltered in any form or fashion, unadulterated Nephilim Pureblood Male,” the Watcher spread it’s hand and moved it from left to right as if highlighting a display then gave the Horseman a lewd two-eyed wink.

 

After several moments of silence, Strife let out a groan as the implications sank in. “Aw Hells.. There goes any chances of me having fun anytime soon…” He leaned to the side and let himself fall back into the bed.

 

Denea just snickered softly as she stood up and reached over to pat the nephilim on the shoulder. “Poor baby, such a hard life in front of you,” she cooed sarcastically. “Well boys, it is getting late for me so I will call it a night. It’s good to have you back Strife,” she said as she headed to the door.

 

The Fallen stood and gave the elderly woman a gentle hug and a kiss on the temple. “Rest well Denea. Creator willing, I’ll see you on the morrow.” Once she was gone, he re-took his seat. He switched over to the Angelic language, knowing Strife was very fluent in it. “So, anything you’d like to know but not let the humans know that you know?”

 

Lifting the hand that half-covered his face, Strife gave the larger male an inquisitive look. “Let me guess… On the edge of a racial genocide and they are playing politics and trying to keep everyone willing to help in the dark.”

 

“Ummhmmm,” Mikeal hummed in affirmation. “Just when they were starting to make real progress too,” he said with a shake of his head. “So...it pretty much boils down to females have become ‘precious commodities for the continuation of the human race’ and are no longer allowed to do anything that might jeopardize their ability to do so. Children are now segregated by their gender when it comes to schooling as well.”

 

“In other words the females have been turned into breeding stock, and  then the idea is reinforced when the children are schooled,” Strife said with a disappointed sigh. “Is that just here or everywhere?”

 

“Just here. For now at least, haven’t heard anything from any of the other known surviving settlements,” the Fallen said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, certain families have been elevated above the rest. An almost caste-like system.”

 

“Let me guess, they based it on how ‘pure’ their bloodline is,” the Horseman stated.

 

“Back to before the End War started if possible, or at least back before the Battleborn came into being,” Mikeal said. “Some of the older surviving humans have made their displeasure known, but they are dying out. Either through accident, age or other reasons. They are the ones that think having non-human relatives is a good thing and will strengthen the human race, not weaken it.” He shrugged. “Humans no longer venture past the outer walls to join the Battleborn in patroling or combat. Denea was one of the last holdouts. Now, you’d be lucky to even find a human who know how to fight beyond the very basics. The younger generation is starting to think that even mingling with the Battleborn is beneath them.”

 

Strife let out another huffed sigh. “Of all the idiotic, stupid…. ” He closed his eyes and continued to grumble.

 

“As the human saying goes, ‘You’re preaching to the choir’,” Mikeal replied. “You’ll be able to tell who’s who amongst the humans when you actually do meet with them.”  Uncrossing his arms, he moved his stool closer and leaned in. “So, do you have anything you’d like to share without the humans knowing?” he asked.

 

Opening one eye, Strife looked at his acquaintance. He kept the smirk off his face, barely, as he answered. “Actually, I do.” He gestured for the Fallen to move in closer.

 

Fresh gosip was a premium in an closed off society like Rene and Mikeal had been getting bored before Strife showed up. He leaned in close, turning his head slightly when the Horseman cupped a hand on one side of his mouth. A moment later, he felt a gust of hot breath, and a very wet, warm, wiggling appendage in his ear. A wanton moan of pleasure that would make Lilith, the Unholy Whore of Babylon herself leer with lecherous pride, accompanied the tongue in his ear. His eyes bulged with shocked surprise as he jerked backwards, wings knocked into the wall and bed as they flared wide. He ended up taking a backwards tumble off the stool in the process.

 

Strife stared for a minute straight before he started to laugh. “Oh.. sweet.. merciful .. makers! The look on your face!” he said after he got himself under control.

 

Mikeal had picked himself off the floor and was straightening his feathers as he glowered at the Horseman. “Just you wait,” he said. “Payback is a royal bitch.” He wasn’t really mad, just surprised as hell and he wasn’t above getting a little revenge on the nephilim either. “You’re an asshole Strife,” he added. “An immature asshole at that!” He threw his hands up in annoyance when he couldn’t get his feathers to lay flat again due to his agitation. “I’ll be back later when the healers let you go,” he said as he turned and left. On the way out, he stopped by the healer’s desk and had a small chat with one of the assistant healers on duty. When he left the infirmary, it was with a lighter step and a grin.

  
~~~

 

The yowl Strife let out the next day as the unwanted intrusion was removed, was one that was heard all over the infirmary and then some. When he finally exited the room, dressed in the clothes Mikeal had gotten him that morning, he kept reaching down and adjusting himself. As he did, he went through a handful of expressions ranging from puzzled to slightly pained to aroused and annoyed. “I don’t know if I should be pissed off at, turned on by or scared of that healer,” he said as they walked to the Fallen’s quarters.

 

The Watcher let out a low snicker as it floated along behind the two. “You seemed to enjoy her being ‘handsy’ with you at the start,” It said, earning a glare from the nephilim

 

Mikeal just let out a gruff laugh. “Try being respectful of her. She has to deal with everything from idiotic young humans who think the world belongs to them to young bucks thinking she’s an easy piece of tail to lift whenever they want instant sexual gratification.”

 

“You sound like your in lust with her,” Strife commented with a leer.

 

“Oh Hellfires no! I respect and admire that lady for her skills and ability to deal with just about everything thrown her way,” the Fallen shot back. “She’s saved a few of my fellow Fallen’s wings on a number of occasions when we’ve ran afoul of the nasties out there. She’s also the one that kept Denea alive until we could get her back here to base.” As they continued on, Mikeal pointed out locations of interest or importance, passed along the general rules of the base.

 

Strife took everything in, already spotting flaws in the base defenses. When he raised an eyebrow at something Mikeal had said, the Fallen just nodded then shook his head. He had to shake his head as well at the foolishness of this group of humans.

 

“Until another set of quarters becomes vacant, or unless you don’t have any problems with it, you’ll be sharing quarters with Xaxu, the twins and myself. Hope there won’t be an issue. Battleborn run on a staggered ‘One Four Four’ schedule. Ninety-six hours (four days) on straight, forty-eight hours (two days) off. At most they need only twelve hours of sleep every seven days but can go longer if they can catch a ten to fifteen minute nap every few hours. Bathing rooms are communal as are the privies so everyone shares in the duty of keeping them clean and working.”

 

“Even humans?”   
  


“Everyone except humans. They have their own private areas. With servants.”

 

“Other humans?” Strife asked as the arrived at Mikeal’s shared quarters.

 

“No.” Mikeal replied as he opened the door.

 

The room was one of the larger rooms in the Battleborn/Others section of the base. It measured roughly twenty by ten with a ten foot ceiling height.  The Fallen could stretch out both wings if he stood dead center of the room and turned cater-corner. He could also lay his palm flat against the ceiling while standing flat footed. He was also considered to be on the smaller side of an average male so one could imagine how cramped a larger angel would be. On either side of the room were curtained off sections with platforms, one of which ran the entire length of the room, and under storage areas. The shorter one had a crib set up in the corner next to it. The rest of the room contained a small, narrow table with a trio of stools tucked under it and a shelving unit with odds and ends. The floor itself was covered in faded, frayed rugs and other materials to help keep the cold (mostly) out for the sake of their regular visitor. The lights were easy to use, magical constructs that could be turned on, off or adjusted as desired. The entire room gave off a feel of a lived-in, long term quarters.

 

What caught Strife’s eye when he entered was the art decorating the walls. Every piece were crafted using angelic feathers; Fallen, Pure and the ones somewhere between the two. Half-circle fans made up of covert feathers, larger secondary feathers woven together with other materials and even a pair of primary feathers crossed like swords with painted battle scenes. He let out a low whistle as he moved closer to examine one piece. “Nice… Who made these?” he asked, nodding to the piece he was looking at and the rest.

 

“Some if them I did, some Xaxu made, but we worked together on most of them,” Mikeal said as he pulled the curtain on his ‘bed’ aside and sat down. “Except that one,” he added as he pointed to the crossed feathers. “That piece was done by Nightmare. You remember him don’t you?”

 

Looking around again, Strife settled for pulling a stool out and sitting down. “Think so. One of the Fallen commanders we meet when we were at the last base.”

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“So what’s the trick?” Strife asked.

 

“What do you mean?” Mikeal asked back.

 

Strife stood up again, the need to move like an itch under his skin. His steps took him to the shelving unit where he investigated what it held as he spoke. “Every single dead angel I’ve come across have had their feathers, not to mention their bodies, so mangled that they’re not worth plucking. And all the other ones tend to dissipate as soon as they die, are killed or when their souls are reaped.” He turned and waved a feather he had picked up before returning it to the exact location he picked it up from. 

 

The Watcher, whom seemed to have been forgotten again (it was good at that), spoke up from where it was very closely examining the painted battle scene on the pair of feathers. “Looks like someone’s got a itsy bitsy tiny little crush going on,” it snickered as it turned to face the Fallen. The tip of it’s talon like finger a hair’s breadth from one of the figures on the black feather.

 

Strife and Mikeal both turned their attention to the Watcher. Their expressions clearly stating they didn’t know what the Watcher was talking about.

 

“You mean you’ve never looked closely at this painting?” the Watcher asked the Fallen in amusement.

 

“No. Should I have?” the Fallen asked as he stood up to take a look for himself.

 

Strife moved to look as well.

 

The watcher backed away allowing the two males to take a closer look.

 

There on the black feather, just as the Watcher had pointed out, was a finely detailed painted image of Strife astride Grief, with Mercy and Redemption in hand and the gates of Eden in the background. The other Horsemen were also there, weapons in hand and astride their own mounts.  And on the white one, was the hoards of his nephilim kin with Absalom in the lead, charging forward to try and claim Eden as their own. (Or destroy it so no one else could have it, no one was ever sure, not even the Four).

 

Before either could say anything, the door to the room opened and in came Xaxu, carrying the twins, followed by Denea who bundled up against the cold. Before the door could be closed again, Dust came winging into the room and flitted around for a few moments before he settled on the top of the shelf. The information about the painting was put aside for now as the room was re-arranged slightly. Mikeal moved the side table and a stool closer to his side of the room. Xaxu meanwhile placed the twins in their crib and with Strife’s help moved it to one side of the table then placed the remaining two stools on the open sides. From under his platform, Mikeal pulled out a medium sized pot with a large chunk of what looked to be crystal in it. After a few moments, the crystal started to glow, giving off heat without being hot to the touch and was slid under the table. The Fallen settled back on his platform and cupped his wings around Denea as she took the stool directly in front of him. Xaxu claimed the stool directly across from the pair after she retrieved a pair of small boxes from her side of the room. That left Strife to either stand, sit on the floor or claim the remaining stool. As for Dust, the crow glided down from the shelf to take up a perch on Strife’s shoulder. The crow watched the twins in the crib with intense curiosity. The Watcher moved about till it was bobbing ever so slightly between the Horseman and the Battleborn like some demented balloon.

 

“Where did we leave off?” Denea asked as she leaned back into the soft warmth of her friend’s feathers.

 

“You had just arrived with your unit in Delhindia I believe. Just before we meet,” Mikeal supplied. 

 

The elderly human started to grin. “Looks like you showed up just in time Strife,” Denea said as she opened one of the boxes and took out a small, clear crystal. She then held out her hand and let her former charge prick her fingers. Once a few beads of blood had bloomed, she curled her fingers around the crystal, activating it, and started to recount her past.

  
  
  



End file.
